


The Bad Decisions of Malcolm Bright, Teen Disaster

by anotherfngrl



Series: Gil's Kid [3]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Discipline, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Gen, Gil Arroyo Acting as Malcolm Bright's Parental Figure, Gil Arroyo is Malcolm Bright's Parent, Good Parent Gil Arroyo, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Parent Gil Arroyo, Pre-Canon, Spanking, Teen Angst, Teen Years, There are so many dad!Gil tags, and I love it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 76,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23930686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherfngrl/pseuds/anotherfngrl
Summary: Malcolm is a typical fifteen year old boy living in NYC. Except his father was a serial killer, and his dad is the detective who arrested him. Oh, and he's got complex PTSD and he can't seem to make his brain just *be normal*. When Malcolm tries 'at home brain chemistry modification' by adding street drugs to his doctor prescribed regime, his parents have to help him get back on track, and deal with the consequences of his choices. Including punishment!
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Jessica Whitly, Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo, Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel, Malcolm Bright & Jessica Whitly
Series: Gil's Kid [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681132
Comments: 122
Kudos: 80





	1. The One Where JT Catches Malcolm

**Author's Note:**

> Ya'll. I cannot post new stories because I cannot title things. HOW DOES EVERYONE ELSE DO THIS?? I've been struggling with a title all week, and I hate it, but I felt bad just sitting on the fic.
> 
> I wrote 50,000 words of episode related spankings and bonding for my last fic, and over 1,000 people have read it, and I am SO OVERWHELMED. Thank you everyone for your support- please let me know what you think and what you'd like to see- I'd love to include things folks would particularly like to read, or write one shots of prompts (in this verse or outside! Prompt me, please!!!!) Thank you all for being so awesome and welcoming!

These rich Upper East Side kids drive JT nuts. One just  _ ran in front of his squad car _ , yelling his head off. Kid’s definitely high as a kite. JT is tempted to let it go, but if the kid is running into traffic, he could get hurt. No point arresting him, but he can at least call the kid’s parents and make him someone else’s problem.

He hits the siren once and the kid freezes, in the middle of the street. JT parks and gets out quickly, pulling the kid back to the curb. “You could get killed pulling that shit, you know?” JT tells him, annoyed and hating that he sounds like his mother. He did not become a cop to nanny rich kids.

“Might be nice,” the kid says thoughtfully. JT looks at him sharply, but he’s looking dreamy and flighty- high as a kite, not a suicide risk, hopefully.

“Yeah, well, Ms. Earhart, if you’d come back down with the rest of us in the meantime, I’d appreciate it,” JT gripes. This kid is a mess.

"What an odd reference," the kid tells him.

"Flying high, gonna get killed taking risks?" JT points out.

"I'm not flying." The kid looks down at himself before he says it, as if making sure it's true.

"You are high as a kite. If I search you am I going to find any more drugs or did you take them all already?" JT asks.

"Depends on how well you search," the kid tells him, flippant.

"That's it." JT tugs the kid beside the squad car, turning him. "Hands on the roof."

"Hey, wait,  _ no _ !" The kid turns to face him, shrugging off his hand. Unbelievable. Even when he was 15 and thought he was invincible JT  _ never _ would've dared to push back on a cop like this. Rich kids are a whole different breed.

"Look," the kid tries, going for concillatory, "I'll stay out of the street. I took too much, it won't happen again. I'm already calmer, see?"

"Against the car," JT tells him, turning him back around. "You can put your hands on the roof now and I can search you, or I can put them in cuffs and we'll search you down at the station."

The kid's hands fly to the roof. Finally, some cooperation. He pats the kid down, coming away with only a small baggie of pills and less than half an ounce of weed. He turns the teen back around.

"Want to explain these?" he asks.

"They're prescription," the kid tries, but his bravado is giving way to nervousness. Good. Kid needs to learn he's not invincible. He doesn't need to know JT isn't gonna lock him up and throw away the key, just yet.

"Yeah, but  _ whose _ ?" JT asks him, sardonic.

The kid hangs his head. "Not mine. I'm sorry. Please, please don't arrest me. My dad will  _ literally _ murder me if he finds out I got arrested."

JT figures it's about time to get the kid home to somebody who can look after him. "I need a name and number for your parents, kid."

"No, please!" JT raises an eyebrow, waiting the kid out. "My mom's on a girl's trip in Paris. She can't come get me!" He says it with an air of 'so there'.

"Girls weekend doesn't include your dad. We'll call him," JT says placidly.

"Yeah, that's not gonna work. He's in no position to come pick me up," the kid laughs.

" _ Name _ ," JT grits out, losing patience. He'll find a phonebook at this point, what the hell.

"Malcolm Whitley," the kid tells him, jutting his chin out.

JT thinks it's just pride- he's obviously from an important, wealthy family. Then the name registers. "Wasn't your dad…"

"The Surgeon. Yeah. So I don't think they're gonna give him a day pass to come get me. Can I go now?" Malcolm challenges.

"Nah, your mom must've left you with someone," JT assures him. The kid doesn't speak.

"Tell me who to call, kid," JT prompts.

"I'm pleading the fifth," the sulky teen tells him.

"That's for criminal cases, not avoiding getting busted by your folks. Tell me, or I'll have to haul you to the station and book you. I'm not turning you loose to wander like this," JT tells him.

The kid doesn't answer. JT just waits him out, patient. He's got all night, his shift just started. Eventually, the teen shifts from foot to foot and begins shooting him anxious glances. "He really will kill me if he finds out."

Not dad, then. Mom's boyfriend, probably. JT sympathises, he really does, but, "You should've thought of that before," he points out.

The kid blows out an angry breath so hard it ruffles his bangs. "Gil," he grits out.

"This Gil have a number?" JT asks, refusing to let the kid's rudeness bother him.

"Just have dispatch page Detective Arroyo," the kid admits. "He's working."

"Detective Arroyo?" JT has heard of him. He's  _ good _ . He's also the guy who took down the Surgeon, back when he was a beat cop. He'd trusted his gut, and the kid, and stopped the worst serial killer in NYC.

The  _ kid _ . This kid, JT is pretty sure. No wonder he's so eager to lose himself in drugs. Arroyo must've kept in touch with the family after the arrest. The kid doesn't look like he's calling somebody who left a card and said, 'Let me know if you need anything.' He looks like somebody's about to call his dad who's gonna be  _ pissed _ .

JT has called brothers on the force to come get their kids before. Being a cop's kid, even indirectly, can't be easy. He's actually starting to feel sympathetic for the kid. So he puts a warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing, as he goes to page Arroyo. "Dispatch, this is patrol 167. I'm at the corner of 87th and York. I need you to page Detective Arroyo to this location, please. I've got something he's gonna want to see."

He waits until dispatch makes contact and responds, "Arroyo is in route to your location," and returns to the kid, who is sitting on the curb.

"Poor kicked puppy. You look as bad as I used to when the Principal called my dad," JT teases him.

The kid looks up, and his lower lip is trembling. He's genuinely scared and upset. "He's gonna be so mad," he whispers.

"When you said your dad would kill you- you weren't being funny, about Whitley. You meant the detective," JT realizes. The kid nods. Tears are clearly threatening, and as he watches the teenager scrubs an angry hand across his face, clearing them.

"Hey, you'll be okay. When I said the Principal called my dad- I meant my step-dad. I always worried since he wasn't my real dad he'd get tired of me, you know? But he never has. And yeah, parents hate getting called out when kids do stupid stuff, but it'll be okay, I promise," JT assures him, feeling a strange kinship with the kid. He's maybe 15, only six years younger than JT- closer in age than some of his half siblings on his dad's side.

"It's not like that," Malcolm tells him seriously. "Gil loves Jackie, he's not  _ sleeping with my mom _ ." The kid looks suddenly worried. "Please don't go around telling people Gil's involved with my mom, he isn't! He just…"

"Looks out for you?" JT guesses. He's thinking that 'dad' earlier was less of a lie than a telling slip of the tongue. "That's even rougher, when things go wrong. Nothing holding him there but you, huh?" The kid nods. "I don't know Detective Arroyo and I don't know you, but he sounds like he's in this for the long haul. So he'll be pissed, but you'll survive," JT tells him, patting him on the knee.

A black LeMans pulls up and JT stands to greet the dark haired man who gets out, walking around the squad car to meet him in the street.

"Detective Arroyo?" he asks.

"What's this all about? I don't have any active cases right now," Arroyo asks him.

"I found something of yours. Wanted to make sure it got back to you in one piece," JT says, leading him around the car to where the kid is sitting on the curb.

"Malcolm?" Arroyo looks shocked, then concerned. "What happened, kid?" He immediately crouches beside the kid, wrapping a hand around the back neck and stroking gently, looking every bit like the worried, protective dad.

The kid promptly bursts into tears. "I'm sorry, Gil, I'm sorry!" He hunches his shoulders, refusing to look at the detective. He's still high, and he's zig zagged from the over the top wild he was when JT found him, past the devil may care invulnerability he'd seemed to have gotten stuck in earlier, into a profound kind of grief.

"Is he high?" Detective Arroyo asks JT, when it becomes clear he won't be getting any sense from the kid.

JT nods. "Stopped when he ran in front of my patrol car, messing around in the street. Found these on him." He holds up the two baggies, one of pills, the other of weed.

"Shit," Detective Arroyo says. Beside him, the kid cries harder, and the detective turns away to reassure him, petting the hair at the back of his neck. JT is almost surprised he doesn't ask for the bags, or ask him to keep this off the books. It makes him sure he's making the right choice. 

"Hey, I figure sometimes, with this kind of thing, it's better to leave it to the parents. What Dad's got to say is gonna matter more than me hauling him around in cuffs. Even if 'Dad' is the cop who arrested his sperm donor, not the donor himself," JT tells Arroyo with a shrug.

"He  _ has _ been talking," Arroyo says, looking surprised. "I would never ask you to-"

"You aren't," JT cuts him off. "I was thinking this needed to be a wellness check before I found out I was calling a detective for pickup. He's a good kid, seems like. I mean, he's got a mouth on him," he says with a smile.

"Yeah, one that runs away with him, a lot. He's got PTSD, pretty bad. Keeps thinking he can unlock the secret to his brain, if he takes enough pills," Gil explains. "They're just usually prescribed by his psychiatrist."

JT winces. Poor kid. "Hopefully this will be a wake-up call," he offers, supportive.

"Oh trust me, it's going to be," Detective Arroyo assures him, standing up to shake his hand. "I really appreciate this, Officer-" he reads JT's badge, "Tarmel. I won't forget it."

"Any time, man," JT assures him, returning to his patrol car confident the kid is in good hands.

Years later, with an associate's he got doing night school and two years as a detective assigned to burglary under his belt, JT applies for Homicide on a whim. And nearly walks right back out of the interview when he sees who the Lieutenant is.

"Does that time I ruined your kid's life knock me out of the running?" he asks, grabbing the bull by the horns.

"You mean the day you saved his life? And not just from running through traffic. Though he'd have probably preferred jail to the month he still refers to as 'Prison Camp' that followed that little adventure. He's finishing up a masters in psychology, these days," Detective Arroyo tells him, looking every inch the proud father.

"That's good to hear," JT tells him. "Glad he didn't go down that path."

Gil nods vehemently, and they continue the interview. They joke about it, later over drinks, and Gil brings it up during his toast at JT and Tally's wedding. By the time Gil gets Major Crimes, bringing his partner with him, they've been partners for a long time. So much has happened, they barely even remember how it all started.

***

Gil and Malcolm, however, will probably never forget it. Or at least what happened after the squad car pulled away.

Gil returned to where Malcolm was sitting on the curb. “C’mon, kid, let’s get you home. Does your mom know you’re out?” he’d asked.

Malcolm mumbled something unintelligible. “What?” Gil asked.

“She’s in France,” Malcolm admits, unable to meet his eyes.

Gil’s eyebrows shoot up. “And where does she think you are?”

“With you,” Malcolm admits. “Ainsley is at Bryn Mawr this summer.”

“And you are experimenting with drugs in the middle of the street,” Gil says, trying to keep hold of his temper. He could  _ strangle _ Malcolm right now. Jessica has been lax about pills- she’s given him some, to try, but they’re things she got from  _ doctors _ . Doctors who prescribe what their patients ask for, because that’s how being a society matron works, but still licensed medical professionals and pharmacies, so she knows exactly what’s in them. Given the baggies he’d seen, he’s guessing Malcolm went a different route.

He’s worried this was coming for a while. He’d suspected Malcolm was experimenting with drugs last school year, given the state the kid sometimes came home for the weekend in, and everything he knew about Mal’s best friend Vijay and his family. He’d hoped the summer would give Malcolm some space away from all of that to find his equilibrium again. Instead, it’s done the opposite.

Gil curses himself for not keeping in better contact with Jessica. Jackie’s father is recovering from a hip replacement. He’d moved to Florida a few years previous, after his wife died, and Jackie had flown down last week to spend a chunk of the summer with him and help him get around and adjust. She’s usually the one who keeps non-emergency communication between the households smooth. The kid has taken advantage of the lapse.

“How long?” Gil asks.

“Five weeks. She’s doing ‘a month on the continent’ with a friend who just got divorced,” Malcolm admits.

“Christ,” Gil says. The kid was seriously going to screw around for a whole month, alone, and thought he’d get away with it? How  _ long _ has he gotten away with it, Gil suddenly wonders. “And when did she leave?”

“Two days ago,” Malcolm admits.

“It only took you  _ two days _ to almost wind up in jail?!” Gil thunders. Malcolm curls further into himself instead of responding. "Come on," Gil says shortly. Hopefully the drive will give him time to calm down. 

"Where are we going?" Malcolm asks, hesitant.

"To your house to get enough stuff for a couple of weeks, then home to discuss what just happened here," Gil tells him firmly.

Malcolm looks wary, so Gil holds out a hand to help him up. Malcolm allows himself to be pulled to his feet without protest, swaying slightly. “I might…” he says slowly, with great concentration, “still… be high.”

“You don’t say?” Gil snaps. He’s trying to hang on to his frustration, knowing that yelling at Malcolm never makes anything better for either of them, but it’s a tenuous grasp at best. Frustrated, he turns and walks toward the car.

Mal follows slowly, reluctance clear in every line of his posture. He gets into the passenger’s seat wordlessly and buckles, shooting nervous glances at Gil. Gil takes a deep breath, holding it in for a long beat. The kid’s head is a roller coaster, right now. Even more than usual. There’s no point in making it worse- he’s not going to be in any shape to talk about what happened tonight.

Gil releases the breath and with it, as much of his frustration as he can manage. He wraps a hand around the back of Mal’s head, stroking his hair with his thumb. “I love you, kid. You know that, right? Even when you screw up,” he tells the miserable teen.

He’s surprised when this announcement causes Mal to burst into tears. Noisy, wracking sobs fight their way out of the kid as he tries to contain them, and Gil is glad he hasn’t buckled yet as he slides closer to Malcolm, hugging him tight and drawing the sobbing boy in to rest against his shoulder.

“You- you say that, now. But you don’t know how bad I screwed up,” Malcolm tells him, fighting his grip. “When- when you find out-” The words break on a fresh sob.

“Malcolm, look at me,” Gil tugs his face up with a gentle grip on the kid’s chin, sliding his hand around to push the hair back behind his ear.. “Whatever you did, we’re gonna be okay. Yes, you’re in trouble. Yes, it’s gonna be bad. But I’ll still love you the whole time.”

Malcolm gulps another sob. “Can we just go home, and get my stuff tomorrow?” he pleads.

“What’s at your house that you don’t want me to see?” Gil asks searchingly.

Malcolm drops his head. “My meds. I’ve been… experimenting,” he admits.

Gil’s hand clenches reflexively where he’s holding onto the kid and he forcibly relaxes. This is why he’s been so afraid of Mal’s interest in drugs. Mixing whatever he’s been taking and his prescriptions could kill him. Hell, just messing around with taking his prescriptions could kill him- some of those drugs are far too easy to overdose on. Gil’s sat through more than one pharmacy consult with an impatient Mal insisting he knows the drugs, while Gil wants to hear from the pharmacist every time the prescriptions change- what the meds will do, what could go wrong, what to watch for.

The problem is that the kid has spent so much of his short life on hardcore psychiatric medication. He’d been completely wrecked, in the aftermath of his father’s arrest, and it had taken time to come up with a plan that even sort of worked. But he’s so used to the medicines, he treats them as casually as someone else might treat Benadryl and Tylenol. They’ve fought about it before.

Now, Gil takes a breath. His kid needs him right now, he  _ cannot _ freak out. “Okay. Experimenting… you been keeping track?”

Malcolm had closed his eyes, wincing as he waited for Gil to lose it, and he cracks one open tentatively. “Yes?” he says, like it’s a question. “The records are a little less precise with the street stuff, I wasn’t always sure I got what I asked for.”

“Good,” Gil nods, reassuring himself. He can work with this. “We’re going in for an emergency session with Gabrielle in the morning. You’re bringing that record. We’re going to go over every time you’ve had so much as an Advil since this started, and she’s going to adjust and prescribe what she needs to to help you level back out. How do you feel right now? Do I need to get you to an ER?” he asks belatedly. Malcolm  _ looks _ fine, but lord only knows what he took.

“No, I’m okay, I promise, I just took a little too much and got more of a ‘high’ than I bargained for,” Malcolm assures him. “I tried some downers, but I met the dealer at a coffee shop and he was late, and I had… several espressos while I waited, didn’t factor the caffeine in.” The kid has the audacity to look annoyed at the oversight. “It slowed the effects, and I thought the drugs weren’t as strong as advertised and took more.” Discussing the science behind the mess he’s made has calmed him down, somewhat.

“Okay. We can deal with this. We’re going to go get your stuff and go home. We’re going to talk to Gabrielle, get you back on an even keel,” Gil says, still reassuring himself.

“So you can kill me?” Malcolm asks, trying for a joking tone.

“You are in more trouble than you have ever imagined in your life, little boy. But we’ll fix it,” Gil assures him. This does reassure Mal: if Gil is punishing him, Gil will forgive him- he knows how this works. So he slumps over onto Gil’s shoulder for the drive back to his house.

Once they’re inside, Gil orders, “Comfy clothes. I know you have stuff at my house already, but anything that’s especially comfortable or comforting.  _ All _ of your meds. The log of what you’ve been taking.  _ And _ any drugs you’ve got stashed that Gabrielle  _ didn’t _ prescribe.”

“Why do I need more clothes?” Mal asks as he begins gathering things, throwing clothes from his dirty clothes hamper and drawers alike into a duffle. Gil sighs, resolving to just wash it all when they get home.

“You’re with me for a  _ month _ , kid. Might not want to wear the same five or six outfits the whole time,” Gil reminds him.

“Gil, that’s not  _ fair _ ,” Malcolm whines.

“That’s not even punishment, kid. That’s what your mom thought was happening when she  _ left _ you, isn’t it?” Gil asks.

“Cindy was really upset, when the divorce went through. Mom thought they needed to get away, so she could distract her. She was rushing around arranging the plane and an apartment and making sure Ainsley’s camp knew where she was, and she said she’d call you. I offered to do it for her. I knew Jackie was gone, and you and Mom don’t talk much without her. I figured you’d never find out, and it’d be fine,” Malcolm admits, sulky. “I’m  _ fifteen _ . I’m not some little kid.”

“You’re  _ fifteen _ ,” Gil counters, sounding exactly as exasperated.

“I’ve got everything I need from in here,” Malcolm tells him instead of answering.

They retrieve the pills from the kitchen. Along with an unmarked pill bottle Mal hands over reluctantly and Gil pockets, and a notebook Gil recognizes.

“That’s the journal you take when you go see your father,” he says, realization dawning.

“He’s been helping,” Malcolm admits. “See, I wasn’t just messing around- he’s a  _ doctor _ .” 

“He’s a  _ predatory sociopath _ ,” Gil counters, trying desperately to hang on to his composure. Malcolm still has complex feelings about his father, beyond his desire to  _ understand _ . “He’s got an inflated sense of his own abilities, Mal. Psychiatric drugs were never his specialty, and there’s been changes, new research, advances, in the last five years. Plus, he had no way of knowing if the stuff you got off the street was what you asked for or not. He  _ could not _ keep you safe while you did this.” Whether Whitley wanted to, or just wanted to up his body count in a new and interesting way, Gil keeps to himself. Whitley loved torture- it’s possible the combinations he’s suggested were  _ designed _ to be hard on Mal.

His kid’s been manipulated,  _ again _ , by an evil genius. Gil wishes he could kill Martin Whitley. Somehow, though, he finds himself more in control, with this news. It does make more sense, how Mal went so far off the deep end. He almost feels guilty for assuming Vijay was the dangerous influence.

Malcolm’s lip trembles. “He feels bad, seeing how messed up I am. He wants to help.”

“You cannot trust him to help, Malcolm. Even if he wants to, or believes he wants to, he’s got a disease. He can’t always control himself,” Gil tells him softly. “I know it’s hard, kid. I  _ know _ how much you want to believe he’s doing what’s best for you. He may even genuinely believe it. But you can’t take his word for  _ anything _ , you hear me?”

“I know, Gil, I was so  _ stupid _ , I know better- I just… they still let him practice, so I thought maybe medicine was the one thing I really could trust him with, and the end of last semester was  _ so hard _ . Vijay’s dad got out, and he’s making all these new friends and he doesn’t ever have time for me anymore, he always wants to go to parties. I just needed someone to  _ help _ ,” Mal tells him.

“Kid, I will  _ always _ help. You can come to me with anything. And I might be mad about what you  _ do _ when you try to deal with things on your own, but I’ll never be mad at you for how you’re feeling,” Gil assures him, pulling him into a hard hug.

Mal clings for a long moment, and Gil just focuses on holding him tight, grateful that he gets the chance, that Martin Whitley’s last victim hasn’t been his own son. When Mal feels steadier, he gathers the meds into a sack and Gil takes them, while Malcolm carries his duffle bag out to the car.

The ride home is quiet. Mal is leveling out, and Gil is furious, and worried, and more afraid than he’d like to admit of what could have happened to his kid. It makes them both introspective.

When they get home, Gil detours them into the kitchen. Mal looks confused. “Have you eaten at all today, kid?” Gil asks him, exasperated by the clear confusion. Fifteen is  _ not _ old enough to reliably feed and clothe oneself, apparently, medications aside.

“I ordered a croissant at the coffee shop,” Mal assures him.

“Did you  _ eat _ it?” Gil questions, seeing through the evasion.

“Ummm…” Malcolm hesitates. Gil turns him and swats him sharply on the behind, keeping a grip on his upper arm as he spins the kid so they’re eye to eye.

“We are  _ done _ with you lying to me, evading the truth, leaving out things I need to know… whatever you want to call it. Did. You. Eat?” he asks, stern.

“No,” Mal whispers, obviously upset- far more than the discussion calls for. Gil knows he’s being mean, but the kid is still all over the place emotionally, to be reacting so strongly.

Gil debates with himself briefly- he seriously considers dumping Mal in the corner while he fixes him something to eat, but the kid does tend to get nauseous when he’s upset, and he’s already pretty worked up. So he softens his tone. “Sit. I’m going to heat up some soup.”

Malcolm sits obediently at the kitchen table, watching him warily. Gil goes to the freezer, retrieving one of the ziplocks of frozen soup they always keep on hand for emergencies. Jackie cooks soup like she has a batallion to feed, and Mal will almost always at least drink the broth.

He’s dumping the zipper bag of frozen soup into a bowl when Mal asks, “Are you ever gonna be able to trust me again?” his voice small and heartbroken. Gil takes a steadying breath, using putting the soup in the microwave to give himself a moment to gather his thoughts.

While the microwave heats the food, he turns to Mal, crouching in front of the kid where he’s sitting pushed away from the table. “Hey, I told you we were gonna be okay, and I meant it. Trust is… hard. It’s easy to get so caught up in a mistake you don’t realize you’re breaking it. And it’s a hard thing to fix. But we  _ will _ work this out. I think we should ask Gabrielle about that, too, when she looks at your meds. What you need to settle back in, get back to some normalcy.”

“I don’t think she’s going to approve of spanking me every day until I die,” Malcolm tells him wryly.

“Eh, I figure I’ll let you off the hook when you turn forty,” Gil teases, glad the kid’s recovered enough to joke.

The microwave dings, and Gil brings Malcolm his soup and sits across the table from him to keep him company while he eats. Mal eats slowly, playing with the soup as much as putting it in his mouth, clearly trying to stall any unpleasantness that might follow dinner. Gil doesn’t comment, and eventually the world’s slowest bowl of soup has been eaten.

“Is this a bad time to ask how much trouble I’m in?” Mal asks him hesitantly.

“Plenty,” Gil tells him shortly. “The  _ big _ things are messing with your medication doses, taking street drugs, wandering the streets high,  _ lying _ to your mother and me about who you were with while she’s gone, and letting your father talk you into doing something so dangerous." He lists each matter of a factly, trying to get control of his temper.

“We’re not dealing with all of that tonight, are we?” Mal asks nervously.

“Kid, I don’t think I can deal with any of it tonight. I’m too mad.” Mal looks down, biting his lip. “And too worried. Tomorrow, we’ll have a better idea what you did to yourself, and you’ll have whatever crap you took today out of your system. We’ll start sorting things out then.”

Gil already has some degree of a plan, though, and he knows Mal isn’t going to like it. “Regardless of what Gabrielle tells us, you are  _ definitely _ grounded till your mother gets home. We’ll talk about whether you’ve earned your freedom then. We’ll talk tomorrow about what privileges you’re losing, and which you can work on earning back. One thing that I’m definitely doing is handling your meds and doses myself, until you show me you can be responsible with the pills. We give you a lot of trust, Malcolm, with some very dangerous stuff. You’re going to have to earn that back,” Gil tells him gently.

“You mean like, you want to know when I take my pills?” Mal asks.

“I mean you’ll take them in front of me, when I hand them to you. We’re going to go back to how we did this when you were eleven, until I’m sure you’re ready to make more mature choices,” Gil tells him.

“Gil!” Malcolm looks positively offended. Gil raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “I’m not a child, you’re being an asshole! It’s not fair!” He slams his fist down on the table, then, apparently unsatisfied with that display of temper, shoves his empty bowl into the floor, where it clatters for a long moment. They both watch it, shocked.

Then Gil gets up. He hadn’t intended to spank Malcolm tonight. He’s too worried, too angry to deal with any of the big things that have gone wrong this week. But a temper tantrum worthy of a five year old? Yeah, he’ll give the kid a smacked backside for that.

“Gilllll, no, I’m sorry, I was upset!” Malcolm back pedals, pushing his chair further back, away from Gil.

“Stand up,” Gil tells him firmly, retrieving the spoon from the wall.

“No, Gil, please!” Mal begs, standing but backing away and shielding his bottom. The kid is still all over the place- where a second ago he was bitterly furious, now he’s desperate and teary.

Seeing how emotional Mal is, Gil tosses the plan of pulling him over his lap right here in the kitchen and going straight to applying the spoon directly to his bare bottom. He knows Mal finds comfort in routines- they’ll do this the way they usually handle ‘real’ punishments.

So Gil takes Malcolm by the shoulder and marches him back to his bedroom, giving him a heavy wallop with the spoon every other step. He’s aiming low in the center of the kid’s sit spots, where the pockets of his pants won’t save him, and Mal whines every time the spoon connects. When he pushes back so hard Gil can’t move him- without risking hurting him, anyway- Gil simply bends him over his arm and focuses on spanking instead of walking, all extras that land on the backs of his legs, until Malcolm concedes, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll go!” Mindful that he’s set the precedent of never stopping ‘extras’ as soon as Mal capitulates, Gil gives him four more hard whacks before standing him back up.

The rest of the walk to the bedroom is uneventful, though he’s sure Mal’s bottom is quite sore by the time they get there. Gil immediately sits down in the middle of Mal’s bed, putting the spoon aside for now and tugging the kid to stand between his knees. Mal fidgets, pulling against him. “Gil, please, can’t I take them down?” he begs as Gil unfastens his belt.

“Nope. If you’re gonna throw tantrums like a little boy, I’m going to treat you like one,” Gil tells him blandly, shoving his pants down his legs. “Shoes,” Gil orders. Malcolm looks startled, but toes out of his shoes and pushes them under the bed without complaint. “You,” Gil tells him, putting Mal’s hands on his shoulders and helping him step out of the pants before tossing them toward the hamper, “are going straight to bed when I finish heating your naughty bottom up. Might as well not bother putting them back on.”

“Gil, I’m not a baby,” Malcolm whines.

“You’re making choices I’d expect from an overtired five year old, name calling and throwing things, not a mature fifteen year old. So I’m going to assume you’re tired and cranky, and spank your butt and put you to bed,” Gil tells him firmly.

Malcolm’s eyes are full of embarrassed tears, but he doesn’t argue further. Teenage dignity is a fragile thing, and Gil knows his childish treatment is badly denting the kid’s. Gil is deliberately keeping the scolding little boy juvenile, both as an object lesson about Malcolm’s tantrum and because it helps him separate this little fit from all of the bigger, serious issues they’re going to have to face later.

Gil eases Malcolm across his lap, choosing to put him fully across his thighs so his legs are on the bed, since he’s sure Mal is going to kick up a storm. Mindful that Malcolm has several serious sessions with the belt coming soon- and he’s got to figure out how he’s going to spread those out,  _ Jesus _ , but that’s a problem for tomorrow- he truly intends to give him a little boy’s spanking. Light and stinging, with fast little spanks that will make the kid howl now but won’t leave him sore tomorrow.

Once he’s got Malcolm in place- pushed a little further forward than usual, because he intends to focus most of his smacks on the sit spots- he takes a look at Mal’s already pink thighs. Poor kid, he’s really going to hate it if he earns himself any more extras. Mindful that he did quite a bit of spanking on their way in here, Gil tugs the leg of Mal’s underwear up, checking the sore little red spot where his cheeks meet.

Mal struggles against him, and Gil gives him a pair of firm slaps to the very tops of his bare thighs. The kid immediately goes still, and Gil finishes examining the area and smooths the briefs back down. Mal whimpers at the little pat he gives him.

“Why am I spanking you, kid?” Gil asks gently.

“I was rude. I threw things and cursed at you and called you names. I’m sorry, Gil,” Malcolm says, hanging his head in shame.

“That’s what I call a temper tantrum. And temper tantrums get you one thing in this house- a red bottom!” Gil tells the kid, bringing his hand down for the first smack. Mindful that the kid is a mess and wanting to keep this short, he doesn’t spread the spanks across Mal’s whole bottom, only the sensitive lower half. He keeps up the light warm up spanking until Mal is twisting his hips to avoid the sting.

He pauses, telling Malcolm to, “Lift up,” and sliding his underwear down to his knees. The kid whines but obeys when Gil taps his hip to encourage him. The bottom half of Mal’s bottom is nicely warmed up, pink and visibly sore. He’s got a red spot low across his cheeks from his earlier run in with the spoon, and Gil makes it his center point, spreading fast, stinging spanks across the kid’s most sensitive spots.

“You do not throw tantrums. You do not throw dishes. You do not call people names, Malcolm Charles,” Gil scolds. “You are old enough and smart enough to make better choices than that.”

“Sorry! M’sorry, Gil!” Mal tells him, kicking his legs frantically as spanks continue to fall. Gil doesn’t let up the fast, steady spanking- he wants to be firm enough tonight that Mal will think twice about throwing further tantrums this month.

After a few more rounds of fast, stinging spanks, Malcolm can’t take it any more. “Stop!” he cries, throwing his hand back to block Gil’s.

Gil matter of factly pins the hand in the small of Mal’s back and begins spanking his thighs. Malcolm  _ bucks _ like a wild thing, trying to throw himself off of Gil’s lap. Gil anchors him more firmly with the hand holding his wrist, laying his forearm across Mal’s back and continuing to spank his legs.

“You don’t tell me to stop, young man. If you don’t want a long, hard, bare bottom spanking, then don’t throw tantrums. I’m never going to put up with naughty behavior from you, especially during your spanking,” Gil scolds. Mal has been crying for some time, but now he’s sobbing, though Gil thinks it’s as much frustration as soreness.

Gil caught the errant hand quickly, but he still spanks Mal’s legs until the very tops of his thighs are as red as his poor bottom. Mal is sobbing, now, whining, “Noooooo, please, Gil, nooooo!” in a voice that makes Gil worry he’s hurting his throat.

He lands a few more firm slaps to the kid’s sore legs as he says, “You’d better settle down if you want me to go back to spanking your sore bottom.”

Malcolm  _ very _ clearly doesn’t want that, but he’s desperate for the smacks to his legs to end. “Pleeeeease spank my bottom!” he begs Gil. “I’m sorry I was- was naughty! Please spank my bottom!!”

Well, Gil can hardly ignore such a polite request. He gives each leg one more hard smack that makes Malcolm’s knees lock, then returns to laying down crisp, stinging spanks across the red bottom before him. Mal continues to sob miserably at this new torture.

When the lower half of Mal's bottom is so red he can’t see the spot he spanked with the spoon earlier, Gil decides it’s time to move on. He picks up the spoon and rests it against the lowest part of Mal’s left cheek.

“Oh nooooooooo,” Malcolm grinds out, and Gil begins. “Please, Gil, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, please not the spoon! You already paddled me! It’s not fair to paddle me again! It’s not faaaaair!”

“Malcolm Charles! You and I both know that what you got earlier was just a few spanks for encouragement. You earned every swat you’re getting right now, didn’t you?” Mal doesn’t answer, and Gil moves the paddling down to his thighs.

Mal  _ shrieks _ . The kid is a mess. The neighbors are going to start complaining soon, Gil is afraid. He’s not spanking hard- he’s aware that the wood of the spoon could really leave Mal aching, especially on the sensitive skin of his legs. He’s giving him lightning quick little whacks, where each spank barely registers but the cumulative effect is one of unbearable sting.

“Mal, I asked you a question,” Gil reminds him, when the kid doesn’t respond.

“Don’t- don’t remember!” Malcolm howls.

“Did you earn this spanking?” Gil asks again.

“Yessss! Yes! I was so, so naughty!” Mal admits. “Owwwww!”

Gil moves the spanks back up to his bottom, laying down a few more randomly before pausing. “Malcolm, you were awfully worried about ‘fair’ earlier- tell me, do you deserve the spoon on your red bottom for what you did?”

“Yes! I do, Gil, sorry!” Mal cries.

“How many more spanks do you think you deserve? What would be fair?” Gil asks him. It’s mean, but hopefully Mal will calm down to think about the question, and having a number to focus on will get him through the rest of it.

“Th-thirty?” Mal suggests tremulously.

Gil had already decided to accept any number over twelve and under fifty. “That sounds right to me. Thirty more spanks, and if you’re a good boy and don’t earn any more extras, we’ll be done.”

Malcolm works  _ hard _ to stay still. He doesn’t kick or twist, and the yelling is replaced with breathy little ouches. Gil gives him thirty little spanks, slowing down the smacks but not landing them any harder than he was earlier.

When he’s done, he pulls Mal’s underwear back up over his sore bottom, watching him arch and try to escape the sting, and turns the kid over to cuddle in his lap, careful to turn his bottom so it doesn’t touch anything. If he’s going to spank Mal like he’s a little kid, he can comfort him that way, too.

Indeed, Malcolm clings gratefully, burying his face in Gil’s neck. “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m being such a jerk,” Mal apologizes.

“Well, you’re coming down, you’re upset, you’re nervous about how much trouble you’re in, and you probably haven’t eaten or slept properly in two days. That’s a lot for anybody to deal with,” Gil reassures him.

“I’m sorry,” Mal repeats.

“Shhh,” Gil tells him, petting his hair and cradling him close. “You’re okay.” He holds Malcolm for a long time, just petting him and loving him.

Finally, the kid sits up and asks, “Do I really have to go to bed now?”

Gil raises an eyebrow, silently asking if the kid really wants to push his luck.

“Okay, okay, got it. Yes, I’d rather be good and go to bed now without earning any more extras! I promise!” Mal says, without Gil even having to say a word.

“Good boy,” Gil tells him, kissing the top of his head.

Mal looks at him hopefully. “After I take my meds, will you stay with me till I fall asleep?”

This is the part of the evening Gil has been dreading. “Kid, I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s safe to take your meds tonight, on top of everything else you’ve put in your body in the last two days. You’re still under the effects of some of those downers, and an anxiety med on top could push you into an overdose.”

Malcolm’s eyes go wide. “Gil, please. They help with the nightmares. I can’t sleep without them, please!” he begs.

“I’ll stay with you all night, kid. But we can’t keep pouring drugs in you, not knowing how they’re reacting with the crap that’s already there,” Gil tells him firmly.

Malcolm, already exhausted and overwrought, begins to cry quietly. “I know I was bad and I deserve to be pun-punished, but please don’t take away the meds, Gil, you don’t know what it’s like in my brain, I’m scared! Please!”

Gil knows Mal is being irrational, but he still feels like a monster. “I’m not punishing you, sweetheart. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“It’s not  _ safe _ in my head, Gil. It’s worse than anything that could happen to me out here. Please,” he begs.

Gil seriously considers whether his knee jerk reaction- no more drugs to possibly interact till Gabrielle sees the kid- is the best choice under the circumstances. Then, he considers other sleep aids. Hot tea and whiskey? He’ll give the kid alcohol if it’ll knock him out so he sleeps without dreams. He remembers the week Dr. Whitley had told Mal about the Quartet, and shivers. He wouldn’t want to be trapped with that in his head, either.

It occurs to him belatedly that alcohol is probably as dangerous to be mixing with the drugs as more drugs. There’s no  _ good _ solution, here, only one that will hopefully do the least damage. He looks Mal over carefully.  _ Probably _ one dose of the anti-anxiety med he takes at night won’t hurt the kid. If he stays with him, he’ll notice if something goes wrong, right? He considers it worriedly, while Mal sits in his lap and cries in hopeless fear.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “We’ll try it. I’ll sit up with you the first couple of hours, wake up once an hour and check your pulse and breathing once I have to sleep. It won’t be a  _ restful _ night for anyone, but hopefully it won’t be torture. Anything goes sideways, we head straight to the ER. No complaints.”

Malcolm flings himself at Gil so hard he falls back toward the headboard, unprepared. “Thank you, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, thank you,” he says.

“Mal, kid, I promise, the meds are totally off limits for punishment. I would never punish you by messing with your health. This is just me trying to figure out the safest thing to do for you, right now,” Gil assures him, tucking the kid’s head under his chin and holding him close.

“I’m sorry, Gil, I’m sorry. I feel weird, and I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do,” Mal confesses tearfully.

“Why don’t you get into pajamas while I go get your pill?” Gil suggests gently.

Mal’s grip tightens. “Can’t I stay with you?”

The larger than life moods that are apparently a side effect of whatever drugs Mal took aren’t a sign he needs to worry, Gil assures himself. He just needs to get Mal through them tonight, and he’ll level back out in the morning. For now, he says, “Okay, hop up and get your pajamas on, and we’ll go lock up and get your pill.”

Mal does, hissing as he slides into pajama pants. He follows Gil to the kitchen, sticking close. Gil pours him a full glass of water and hands him the pill. After some brief thought, he opens the gun safe and puts the bag of medicines in there. Mal looks at him with wide, hurt eyes but doesn’t say anything, swallowing his medicine obediently and opening his mouth to show Gil he’s really taken it.

“Good boy,” Gil tells him, wrapping a gentle hand around the joint where the kid’s shoulder meets his neck and steering him toward the master bedroom. “You want to brush your teeth while I get changed?” he suggests. Mal looks hesitant, and he’s still being quiet, but he obediently stops in ‘his’ bathroom to brush his teeth. Gil rushes through his own nightly grooming rituals and throws on pajamas, unsurprised to find the kid waiting in the hall for him.

He’s about to lead Mal back to his own room when he has an idea. “You want to sleep in my room tonight?” he asks. Mal had slept with him and Jackie a couple of times, when he was young. Usually, when he needs extra comfort, Gil provides it by accidentally falling asleep petting his hair, in Mal’s room. But the kid used to claim the monsters couldn’t get him in here- it’s worth a try. Drug induced PTSD dreams are  _ not _ going to be fun, and Gil will take any advantage over Mal’s subconscious he can get.

Mal flashes him a quicksilver smile. “Really?” he asks.

“Can’t hurt. Room for both of us, and you know I’ll keep you safe,” Gil tells him gently.

Mal settles happily- or as happily as the kid  _ ever _ goes to bed- in the middle of the bed, turned toward Gil, who pets him with one hand and holds his book with the other. The kid watches him contentedly and drifts off to sleep.

Gil gets very little reading done, hyper-aware of Mal’s breathing, his heart rate. He had sent the kid to bed early, at barely nine o’clock, so he sits up with him a few hours until he feels himself starting to doze off. Then, Gil puts the book aside, sets an alarm for one hour, and slides down to hold Malcolm, as sleep washes over him.

Malcolm is groggy but lucid, breathing deeply and heart rate near normal, every time Gil wakes him up to check. He also makes it through the night without a nightmare, thank God.


	2. The One Where Gabrielle Sorts Him Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after Gil finds out about Malcolm's ill advised foray into illegal drugs, he takes him to see Gabrielle. The psychiatrist starts working on getting his medications adjusted to fix the mess he's made, but also takes the time to help sort out the mess in his *head*, and help Malcolm deal with the revelation that Dr. Whitley's motivations maybe weren't as altruistic as his son had hoped.

The next morning, Malcolm wakes up feeling warm and safe, and it takes him a few minutes to rouse enough to remember he’s in Gil’s bed. His dad has been waking him up over and over all night, because he’d worried about Malcolm’s  _ suicidally stupid _ choices this weekend.

Malcolm hates that he was pathetic enough to need to sleep in Gil's bed last night. But he can't deny it helped- he'd been drifting into nightmare territory a couple of times when Gil woke him up last night, but between the feeling of safety he gets sleeping with Gil and the interrupted sleep, no nightmares managed to take hold.

His dad is awake beside him and reading the newspaper, one hand absently resting on Malcolm's shoulder, occasionally rubbing soothingly. "Morning, sleepyhead," Gil tells him, putting the paper aside. "Glad you're up. We've got an hour and a half until Gabrielle can get us in."

Malcolm stretches, getting out of bed reluctantly. "She's going to yell at me too, isn't she?" he groans.

"Probably, kid," Gil admits. 

Malcolm returns to his own room to get dressed, surprised to realize his butt is neither hurting nor red. As distressed as he'd been last night, he'd thought that was a spanking that was going to stick with him.

When he joins Gil in the main part of the house, the other man is scrambling eggs. "Gil," he whines. 

Gil doesn't even look up. "Then make toast to go with them. You're eating something with protein for breakfast."

Malcolm sighs, but obeys. He digs out the strawberry jam as the toast cooks, setting it on the table. By the time the toast is done, Gil has split the scrambled eggs onto two plates. "Dig in, kid," he tells him as Malcolm adds toast to each one.

Malcolm eats breakfast reluctantly, but determinedly. He's a little nauseous already, and between the come down and how much today is going to suck, it will probably only get worse. Better to eat while he can.

"Meds?" Mal asks as he finishes eating. He  _ hates _ giving up control to something so important, but he gets why Gil is insisting.

Gil dumps both of their plates in the sink and begins washing them, along with the skillet. "We're about to see Gabrielle. She said not to take anything this morning so she can adjust dosages if needed."

Malcolm swallows, but nods. He believes Gil, that they're messing with his meds to fix what he did to himself, not to punish him, but that fear from last night is still there.

Gil must see it, because he turns to hug Malcolm before sending him on his way. "Shoes, and be ready to go in five," he instructs.

The ride to the doctor's office is awkward. "Did you call Mom and Jackie yet?" Malcolm asks.

"No. I wanted to know what you've done to yourself before I worried them," Gil admits. "And I didn't really want to leave you alone while you slept for that long," he adds.

"Thank you," Malcolm says softly. "Every time I was starting a nightmare, you woke me up right as he showed up."

"Good, kid. I just wish I could protect you from him out here, too," Gil says.

"He was my dad for the first ten years of my life, Gil," Malcolm tries to explain.

"I know, kid, I know," Gil tells him, taking a hand off the steering wheel to wrap it reassuringly around the back of his neck. Malcolm leans into the touch. Gil has him- he's okay.

When they arrive at the office, they're immediately waved in. Gabrielle is less than thrilled with him, it's obvious. Malcolm passes over the notebook he'd recorded Dr. Whitley's instructions, his doses, and his notes in, and he's surprised by the way her eyes widen.

"One moment," she says, crossing over to her computer to look something up. "Did you do any research about the things he told you to take?" she asks sternly.

"No…" Malcolm admits, trailing off.

"He was building up to a… susceptibility cocktail. There was an article in the American Journal of Psychiatry three months ago about an experiment to lower inhibition and increase willingness to follow commands. There's some chatter that the military has been using it. But where did he get the article?" she asks.

"Me," Malcolm admits. "I subscribed, and had it delivered to him because my parents aren't crazy about me researching psychiatry. He said that month's never came. He always reads them before he gives them to me."

Gil is staring at him, like he can't believe what he's hearing. 

"Malcolm, we let you visit a  _ serial killer _ twice a month. And you're hiding medical journals, by  _ GIVING THEM TO THE PREDATORY SOCIOPATH _ ?!" Gil asks. He's yelling by the last of it.

"Oops," Malcolm says quietly.

"Gil, let's try to remain calm. I understand why you are upset. But Malcolm has been under his father's manipulation, in one way or another, his entire life. I don't think he sees what he's doing, especially right now. Although he knew it was wrong enough to keep it a secret," Gabrielle tells them.

"I'm sorry," Malcolm says quietly. "I just… I want my  _ dad _ to still be in there. I want him to be real, not a persona a monster adopted to hide in plain sight! I know I shouldn't need it, I've  _ got _ a dad, and Gil's better, he is, he's never lied to me or tried to use me, but I  _ want my dad _ ," he admits, the last of it barely a whisper.

“That’s understandable, Malcolm. The father you knew is, in every real way, gone. I think it’s time to talk about grieving him. You started with denial. You wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t acknowledge what was happening, even though you were the first one to realize it,” Gabrielle tells him.

Malcolm considers it. He’d been utterly unable to face a world where his father was a monster, in the immediate aftermath. Had felt like a monster himself for turning him in, and again for regretting it. He’d been a mess of conflicted feelings and despair, and Gil and Jackie’s love and Gabrielle’s treatment had helped slowly pull him out of it.

“Why would I want to  _ grieve _ a serial killer? He’s a monster. Him being locked up is a  _ good _ thing,” Malcolm insists, looking at Gil nervously.

“But you just told us- you want the man who raised you back, and you know that man and the one in the cell at Claremont are different,” Gabrielle tells him. “You  _ know _ that, intellectually, but you haven’t fully accepted it. You’re in the bargaining stage right now, in some ways. You feel like the man who killed all of those people  _ has _ your father, and if you just say or do the right thing, he’ll bring him back.” She watches him carefully as she makes her point.

“He does, sometimes,” Malcolm admits. “We’ll be talking about  _ murder _ and he’ll get gentle, and call me ‘my boy’ and it’s just like when I’d go down to his office and he’d teach me about the human body. He’s still in there.”

Gil gets up, looking like he’s going to interject. Gabrielle shoots him a quelling look, but he’s already turning away, hands on his hips, to pace. Malcolm watches him nervously. “I’m sorry,” he tells his dad- his  _ real _ dad, DNA be damned- nervously.

Gil immediately returns to crouch in front of him. “No, kid, no. I could never be mad at  _ you _ about how you feel. I’m mad at him, for manipulating you. I’m mad at us, for letting you see him. Hell, I’m mad at Gabrielle for saying it could be a good idea. But I’m not mad at you.”

“What about wanting him back? Even though you’re my dad. I love you, Gil, it’s not that you’re not enough, it’s that he’s  _ gone _ ,” Malcolm tries to explain.

“Oh, kid.” Gil pulls him down into a hug, and Malcolm goes gratefully. “I love you so much. You know that, right? You’re my world, kid.  _ Nothing _ is ever going to change that.” The hand on the back of his neck strokes soothingly, and Malcolm feels a little of the tension in his stomach unknot. Even though he screwed up, Gil’s got him.

“This is actually good. When we first tried to talk about grieving Dr. Whitley, Malcolm didn’t have a secure foundation to grieve  _ from _ . His entire family was in turmoil, and though you were present, your bond had not grown to what it is today. I think Malcolm might finally be ready to grieve his father. That will be an important part of the process, to keep anything like this from ever happening again,” Gabrielle says.

“That won’t be a problem if he never sees him again,” Gil challenges. Malcolm stifles a gasp.

“I don’t actually think that’s the best solution, Gil. Hear me out- if we cut Malcolm off from Dr. Whitley completely, with their last interactions having been what they are, he’s always going to wonder. Did we take his father from him? Was he really in there? No. I think we need to get him back on an even keel, and spend some time learning about sociopathy and narcissism. You, Jackie, and Jessica had good reasons for keeping Malcolm away from psychiatric research when he was younger. He couldn’t truly understand what he was reading, and it only made an already scary world more terrifying. I’m not suggesting turning him loose in Dr. Whitley’s old library. But I think he and I can explore some of this, and he can gain an understanding of these diseases- from someone  _ besides _ a man who has them. The interest and the need aren’t going to go away because we ignore them,” she says gently.

This is why Malcolm loves Gabrielle. She’s big on  _ needs _ . What do you need? Why did you do this- what need does it fill? She says some of what’s wrong with him is ‘chronic misfires in his brain caused by prolonged overexertion of fear responses as reaction to trauma’, but some of it is just him needing things and not knowing how to get them, and that she can fix.

“Let’s work on leveling him out, for now, and we’ll figure out the rest later,” Gil tells her, obviously still furious. He stands up and returns to his seat beside Malcolm, who flicks his eyes over to shoot a nervous glance at his dad. He’s rarely seen Gil so angry, and never at anyone but Dr. Whitley.

“Okay. I’m going to prescribe some smaller dose pills, so we’ve got some control here. 100mg instead of 500, that kind of thing. We aren’t cutting the dose down to 100, it just gives us more freedom to do a few days of 300, then up to 400, etc. And I’m going to want bloodwork, since a lot of what Malcolm took he got off of the street. We’re definitely stopping the Propranolol for at least a week, and reintroducing it slowly. Some of the opioids you’ve taken can also lower your blood pressure, and the tremors are the least dangerous symptom we’re treating,” Gabrielle tells them.

“I’d also like to get an idea of the psychological effects this has had,” Gabrielle announces. “I’d like to spend a few minutes talking to each of you individually.”

Gil looks at her for a long moment before nodding shortly and walking out. Malcolm barely stops himself from calling out to him.

“How are you feeling?” Gabrielle asks him gently.

“Like an idiot. I deserve how mad he is,” Mal says miserably.

“Does that bother you a lot?” Gabrielle asks.

Malcolm wraps his arms around himself. “I’m such a screw up.”

“Malcolm, listen to me. We both know Gil is upset right now, but he just told you it isn’t entirely- or even mostly- with you. I think he’s angrier with both himself and me than he is with you. Now, I need you to examine what you’re feeling for me. Are you more bothered by Gil’s disapproval than you would usually be?” she asks.

Malcolm considers it. He’s utterly  _ crushed _ to have Gil upset with him. He loves his surrogate dad, but Gabrielle is right, he’s not usually this sensitive. “I think so,” he admits.

“I thought that might be the case. One way this combination of medications works is by increasing emotional sensitivity. That seems to be the part he worked on layering in first. Honestly, the medications I had you on to begin with weren’t too far from doing that- remove the mood stabilizer, and you’re there,” Gabrielle reports.

“I stopped taking that a month ago. I told Dr. Whitley about what happened with Vijay- he’s hardly got time for me anymore. And he said I sounded like him. Distant, from my feelings. He said that’s where he thinks it all started, when he started to not feel things as strongly. It took bigger and bigger feelings to tip the scale,” Malcolm explains.

“So, naturally, wanting to avoid getting to a point where you would be so desperate to feel something you would consider actions like Dr. Whitley’s, you stopped taking your mood stabilizers. Sudden withdrawal can cause depressive symptoms, listlessness, insomnia- all of which will have made you more susceptible to his suggestions,” Gabrielle explains.

“Gil’s reaction made me realize- I can’t believe I listened to Dr. Whitley about my meds like this,” Mal admits. 

“He found a trigger- probably been doing a lot of ‘my boy’ ‘we’re the same’ talking lately, hasn’t he?” Gabrielle asks shrewdly. Malcolm nods. “I think he may have triggered a mild flashback and capitalized on the fear from that to get you to stop taking the mood stabilizers. You absolutely should not have done that without speaking to me, Malcolm.” Now  _ Gabrielle _ is scolding him. “But I don’t think what happened afterwards was entirely your fault. Tell me honestly- how often have you seen him, lately?”

“Every three or four days, since I got home,” Malcolm admits. “I told mom I was spending time with friends.”

“I’m going to talk to Claremont and set it up so that you can’t see him unless you’re accompanied by a guardian,” Gabrielle says. “We’ll get Gil and Jackie on the list as well as your mom, but you don’t need to be visiting him alone, Malcolm. When you do, nobody knows how much he’s getting inside of your head. We can’t protect you if we don’t know there’s a danger.”

Malcolm wants to argue that he doesn’t need protecting from Dr. Whitley, but he can’t. His father hasn’t been suggesting new medicines and dosages to help him. He’s been doing it to manipulate Malcolm. He feels like an idiot.

“I think I’d be too scared of Gil’s reaction to try seeing him anytime soon, anyway,” Malcolm admits, instead.

“You understand why he’s so upset?” Gabrielle asks.

“Because I’m supposed to be smarter than this. I’m an idiot, letting Dr. Whitley mess with my head like I did,” Malcolm groans.

“Because you’re in  _ danger, _ Malcolm. Because Dr. Whitley was able to do something that could hurt you, and Gil wasn’t there to stop him. Aside from any harm Dr. Whitley may have intended to cause, you could’ve been hurt by a dealer or accidentally overdosed on incorrectly labelled medications, easily. This isn’t an intellectual issue, Malcolm. It’s a safety one.” Gabrielle looks at him thoughtfully, waiting for him to respond.

Malcolm processes that for a long moment, then nods. “I was so focused on doing what my father told me to, I didn’t think of that.”

“Dr. Whitley,” Gabrielle says.

Malcolm looks up at her, surprised. “You’re calling him your father. Have you addressed him that way, lately?”

It’s something they figured out years ago- the man in the cell is not Malcolm’s ‘dad’. He looks like him, but calling him dad creates false associations and makes Malcolm more vulnerable to manipulation. Afterwards, they’d dealt with the conflicting feelings when Malcolm had accidentally called  _ Gil _ dad, and the realization that there was someone new to take on that title.

“Daddy’s here,” Malcolm breathes, realizing. “He said that. The day I went off my mood stabilizers, I came to see him while I was home for the weekend, right before finals. I’d just had a fight with Vijay, about some party he wanted me to come to. I was upset, and he saw it, and it seemed like he cared…” Malcolm admits. “That was when he convinced me to try this experiment. God, I feel so stupid. I thought it was my idea.”

“You were vulnerable. He took advantage. Was your mom, Gil, or Jackie with you, that day?” Gabrielle asks.

“No. I was mad at him. It wasn’t one of my scheduled visits, but I felt like it was his fault Vijay and I had fought,” Malcolm explains.

“When one of your parents goes with you, what do you talk about on the way home?” Gabrielle asks.

“My mom asks a bunch of questions. She wants to know what we talked about. She reminds me how evil he is. Sometimes she talks about how much she wishes she hadn’t let me see him,” Malcolm explains.

“Anchoring you in the fact that you  _ can’t trust him,” _ Gabrielle points out.

“I never thought of it like that. Gil just gives me space to talk, usually. I tell him what we talked about, what I think Dr. Whitley might be up to, that kind of thing. Jackie always wants to know how I’m feeling. She always hugs me as soon as I get out, and she doesn’t let go until she feels me relax, even if I don’t realize I’m tense.” As Malcolm describes the different adults in his life’s reactions to his visits with Dr. Whitley, he begins to see Gabrielle’s point.

“So in their own way, each of them helps you decompress after a visit to your father, and analyze what happened. Do you do that, when you go without telling them?” Gabrielle asks.

“No,” Malcolm admits. “I’m focused on keeping it a secret. Mom would freak out, and I’m pretty sure Gil would count it as lying.”

“Would they be wrong? Does your mother have a reason to ‘freak out’? Are you lying, to go on these extra, secret visits?” Gabrielle asks.

“Yeah. Obviously, mom had more reason to be concerned than I realized. And… keeping things from them is the same as lying,” Malcolm admits.

“So some part of you knew better,” Gabrielle asks him. Malcolm appreciates that she’s letting him work out what he’s done wrong, not just yelling at him. He’s pretty sure there’s going to be enough yelling later.

“I knew it wasn’t a good idea. I didn’t realize how  _ different _ seeing him by myself was. I think… usually, whichever parent comes walks me in. So he knew I was alone, too,” Malcolm reports.

“That will have made him bolder. He competes with not just Gil but your mother and Jackie, trying to feel like he’s got some control over you. You visiting without them- doing what he wanted, when obviously it wasn’t what they wanted- will have bolstered that feeling,” Gabrielle explains.

“And, emboldened and with nobody to help me realize what he was up to, he knew it was the perfect time to manipulate me,” Malcolm realizes. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“You’re working through years of conditioning by an incredibly skilled manipulator. You’re recognizing it now, which is progress,” Gabrielle retorts.

“I really screwed up,” Malcolm confesses.

“I think we need safety procedures for future visits. We’ll work on those, together,” Gabrielle says. “You’ve  _ got _ the framework, we just need to name it so you remember why it’s important.”

“Yeah,” Malcolm agrees softly. He’s not sure Gil’s going to let him go back to see Dr. Whitley. He’s not sure he wants to, either. It’s silly, given that his father is a  _ serial killer, _ but this is the first time Dr. Whitley has made Malcolm personally feel unsafe. He shudders with the realization.

“I want my dad,” he requests softly. Gabrielle’s eyes widen with alarm, before she realizes who he means.

“I’ll get him,” she promises, stepping out into the hall and pulling the door closed behind her.

Malcolm doesn’t know what Gabrielle told Gil, but he’s obviously concerned when he walks back in. “Hey, kid,” he says softly, crouching in front of Malcolm.

Mal isn’t sure which of them is more surprised when he bursts into tears, reaching desperately for Gil. Gil grabs him up instantly, pulling him close. Malcolm joins him on the floor, clinging.  _ Thank God _ Gil is here, he thinks. Even if he’s an idiot, Gil will keep him safe.

Malcolm cries for a long time, and Gil just holds him close. He knows Gabrielle keeps her mornings open for emergencies, seeing scheduled patients in the afternoon for regular appointments, but he still feels guilty, once he calms down, for monopolizing her office with his breakdown.

When he, tentatively and unwilling to let go of his dad just yet, looks up once he’s done crying, Gabrielle is smiling at him. “The final stage of grief,” she tells him gently. “Acceptance.”

Gil looks between them, baffled. “What just happened?” he asks.

“Dr. Whitley could have hurt me. If he wasn’t actively trying, he at least didn’t care, compared to how much he wanted to manipulate me. I know he’s hurt so many other people. But I never thought he’d hurt me,” Malcolm admits.

“I think Malcolm has finally been able to accept, not just understand intellectually, that the man in a cell in Claremont, Dr. Martin Whitley, is not the loving father who raised him for the first ten years of his life. Nothing he does is going to get that man back,” Gabrielle says.

“Oh.” Gil processes this. “Kid, I’m so sorry.” Gil kisses the top of his head, holding him close for a long moment.

That’s it- no ‘how are you so dumb you didn’t know that?’ or ‘about time!’ recriminations. Something Gabrielle tells them all regularly pops into his head- it’s going to take as long as it takes. Apparently, that means Gil doesn’t blame him for taking five years to work out that the serial killer who was his father is a bad man.

He’s oversimplifying, he knows. He has known since he made the choice to call 911 that his father’s actions were evil. He’d just… compartmentalized them. But whether the man who made him cocoa and the one who brewed the ketamine tea he was going to use on Gil were in separate compartments in his head or not, they’re in the same box. They’re the same man, and Malcolm is only safe from him when it serves Martin Whitley to keep him safe.

“I’m afraid this emotional journey isn’t over. Malcolm will now need to grieve the father he thought he knew- we all know now that he isn’t coming back, because whether Dr. Whitley loves Malcolm or not, that perfect father was an illusion,” Gabrielle warns.

“Don’t say that. Don’t call what he did to Malcolm love,” Gil demands. “Mal was just as much one of his victims as anybody The Surgeon killed.”

Malcolm’s breathing stutters. He’s never thought of himself that way, before. But the way Gil says it- it obviously isn’t a new idea.

Gil’s hand tightens around the back of his neck, obviously reacting to the change in his breathing. “I’m okay, dad,” he says, deliberately using the name for someone who  _ deserves _ it. “I never thought of it that way,” he admits.

“Kid, you live with what he did to you every day,” Gil tells him.

“Just because you didn’t realize you were being harmed at the time doesn’t make it any less abusive,” Gabrielle tells him.

Gil looks concerned. “Is being aware of it going to make it worse?” he asks.

“Malcolm has been in the bargaining stage of the grief process of accepting what his father has  _ done,” _ Gabrielle tells them. “That includes realizing that his father hurt  _ him, _ as well as his murder victims. He had to get through  _ that _ process before he could move past denial over losing his father.”

“It’s denial because I was still looking for him. Still thinking he’s in there, and doing stupid things like seeing him alone to try to find him,” Malcolm realizes. Gil startles a little at that, and Malcolm winces- his dad is going to be  _ pissed. _

“Exactly,” Gabrielle tells him.

“His advice could’ve gotten me  _ killed. _ I know I’m the one who followed it, Gil, I’m not trying to dodge responsibility, here, but  _ my father could’ve killed me. _ And that’s proof- that man is  _ not _ my father. Not anymore.” Malcolm clenches his fists as he says it. He’s surprised to realize this is the first time in all of this that the rage he’s felt over the situation has been directed  _ at _ Dr. Whitley.

“Good, Malcolm, you’re doing great,” Gabrielle tells him.

“I need to go see him,” Malcolm says.

“Absolutely not. Not until we’ve got all of your medications back to normal,” Gil says immediately.

“Malcolm, I think it’s time for your dad and I to talk. Is there anything you’ve said that you don’t want me discussing with him?” she asks.

Malcolm winces. “You can tell him whatever he needs to know.” He’s done keeping secrets from Gil.

“Can you wait in the lobby?” Gabrielle asks gently.

Malcolm gets up from where he’s been sitting in the floor with Gil, reluctantly leaving the adults to talk.

****

Gabrielle Le Deux looks over Detective Gil Arroyo critically. The man loves Malcolm dearly. But love does not always mean being able to make the right choices- in his own way, Dr. Whitley loves Malcolm too.

Gil stood when Malcolm got up, and now he’s gazing at her challengingly, hands on his hips.

“He needs to confront his father,” she says levelly.

“I’m not going to risk that bastard digging his claws into Mal’s head again, before we get him all the way back out,” Gil insists.

“Malcolm and I talked about what made him so susceptible, Detective Arroyo. Things went wrong that we can guard against, now,” she explains.

“Why? What does anybody but Martin Whitley get out of sending Mal back in there?” the detective challenges.

“Your son gets closure, Gil. Not completely, not yet. But he moves closer. There are some parts of what he’s going through that will never go away. CPTSD is a lifelong disease. But some of it,  _ we can fix. _ Now, are you telling me you’re too frightened of Martin Whitley to help your son get better?” she challenges.

Detective Arroyo glares furiously for a long moment, then drops into one of her guest chairs. “I apologize. I’m… more overprotective than is reasonable right now,” he admits.

“You have every reason to be concerned, Gil. Malcolm mentioned that he’s been visiting Dr. Whitley alone, in between scheduled visits. I’m sure you heard that,” she points out, giving him the opening.

“I can’t stand the idea of him alone in the cage with that animal, and nobody on the outside waiting to protect him,” Gil admits. “I have a hard time even letting Jessica take him alone. I know that’s not my choice, but… she’s been so hurt by him too, neither of them ever comes back from those visits in very good shape.”

“Which is why you or Jackie take him, 90% of the time. You figured out that going with an adult who was also hurting made it harder for Malcolm. The visits that led to this particular mess, Malcolm visited without  _ any _ adult support. So he was much more susceptible to Dr. Whitley’s suggestions, because he didn’t discuss them with anyone afterwards,” she explains gently.

“Poor kid. I hate that he’s so desperate for closure that he’d put himself in that position. I’d kill Whitley myself, give up my badge and rot in jail, if I thought it’d be enough to give Mal closure,” Gil confesses, hot and honest.

“It will take as long as it takes, Gil, you know that,” Gabrielle tells him. “But I do think Dr. Whitley has inadvertently moved our cause forward, with this little game of his. Malcolm would never have  _ heard _ that his father could be a danger to him. But now he’s  _ seen _ it, and lived it. He’s too smart to ignore the facts in front of him, however much he doesn’t want them to be true,” she consoles him.

Gil Arroyo is an unusual character, compared to most parents she sees in her office. Many parents struggle to ‘stick with’ their kids through processing their trauma, divorcing (and, unfortunately, playing ‘hot potato’ with the hurt child), institutionalizing the child, or developing their own trauma responses. Gil  _ chose _ this. He reached out  _ because _ Malcolm is traumatized, and refused to let him endure any of it without a steady foundation. The progress the young man has made with his ‘dad’ helping has been nothing short of amazing- she credits Gil with the fact that Malcolm is as functional as he is.

With that in mind, she tackles their next conversational topic by the horns. “I want to talk about your plans for punishment,” she says frankly.

Gil looks surprised, eyes wide. Malcolm let slip a couple of years ago that Gil had turned him over his knee when he’d been particularly badly behaved, and they’ve touched briefly on discipline when she’s spoken to the various combinations of Malcolm’s parents before. But she’s very concerned by Malcolm’s elevated emotional responses and Gil’s own justifiable anger, though she knows the detective would never hurt Malcolm intentionally. It’s not  _ abuse _ she’s concerned about, it’s emotionally healthy dialogue and responses.

“I don’t know what we’re planning, yet,” Gil tells her honestly. She catches the subtle ‘we’ and is pleased again by the triad of parents Malcolm has managed to acquire. Between the three of them, there always seems to be a voice of reason. “I waited to call Jackie and Jess until I knew what was really going on. I’ve already grounded him until his mom gets home, at a minimum. That’s not so much to make him miserable as to keep him close- I’m guessing the next few weeks aren’t going to be fun?”

“No, they aren’t. We’ve taken him off of the medication for the tremors, and I’ll be lowering dosages on some that could interact dangerously with the illegal substances he’s taken. I’ll know how long he’s on lowered doses once I do blood work. There’s no way of knowing the potency of the drugs he took, so there’s always a chance it was mostly fillers like baby powder and he’ll recover more quickly than I imagine. But his nightmares are going to get worse. His baseline anxiety level will go up. He’s been off of his mood stabilizers for a month, so they’re just now fully out of his system. And we need to stabilize everything else before we reintroduce those, and it’ll be a titration when we do,” she explains clinically.

“How do I help him through this?” Gil asks frankly. “The girls are all out of town- my wife, his mom, and his sister. It’s just us for the next month. Tell me what he needs, and I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“Structure. Stability. Malcolm’s own mind isn’t going to be a place he can fully trust for a few weeks, so he needs an environment he can trust. He needs clear guidelines, while his decision making isn’t up to par. He’s going to be impulsive, and emotional. And some of the panic attacks may look like acting out,” she explains. “Watch the physical signs, for those. His breathing, his pupils. His heart rate if you aren’t sure.”

“I can do that,” Gil tells her easily. “And don’t worry, I’d never punish him for a panic attack. I’m not going to spank him because his brain’s playing tricks on him.”

“Not for panic attacks, no. But you  _ are _ for the impulsivity, and tantrums, and the acting out that’s going to come as he processes all of this. Because he’s going to need you to be steady, Gil. He’s going to be  _ terrified _ of what’s going on in his head, and he’s going to need to know that, however crazy things get, he can count on you to be consistent,” she cautions him.

“At the same time, he’s going to need you to stay very calm. He’s reactive, right now. He was very upset about how angry you were, earlier. You can’t- and shouldn’t- stop yourself from feeling your emotions, but you need to be very aware of how strongly he’s going to respond to everything you do, for a little while,” she explains.

“He knocked a bowl across the room last night because I told him I was going to give him his meds until I trusted him to take the prescribed doses,” Gil admits. “Scared me, honestly. It wasn’t like him.”

“How did you respond?” Gabrielle asks, though she can guess. She’s not looking for the  _ type _ of response, she’s interested in the degree, and the emotional content.

“Spanked his butt. Not hard, I knew we had bigger things coming to deal with. But enough. Then sent him to bed early, because he was overwrought and exhausted,” Gil tells her.

She takes a breath. It’s a reasonable, responsible level of discipline, but Malcolm isn’t going to do well with punishments that feel isolating, right now. “I’d like you to really consider punishments like sending him to bed. Anything that isolates him from you is going to be cutting part of his safety net away, emotionally. He needs to be sure that you’re there if he needs you, especially when he’s in trouble,” she explains.

Gil  _ laughs. _ She stares at him. “It’s a running joke in our family, how often I fall asleep with the kid, especially after I spank him. Jackie says she’s going to get a dog, give my spot in the bed away. Last night, he bunked with me. I sat up and read for a while. I’m not gonna risk leaving the kid totally alone with all the shit inside his head at night. We leave our door open, any time he sleeps over. I’ve slept in the hall outside his room, so I could grab him if he ran. One thing I’m  _ never _ going to do is leave the kid on his own when he needs me,” Gil explains earnestly.

For a man who never made the choice to have children of his own, Gil Arroyo is a remarkable father. “Of course, Gil. Forgive me if I go over things that seem obvious to you- you tend to instinctively know what Malcolm needs, but I find that if we name our strategies, they’re more effective. For example, I know it’s childish, but it would be best to put him in a corner in the room you’re in, rather than send Malcolm to his room if he misbehaves. A few minutes waiting for you or if you need to step out is fine. Isolation  _ as  _ punishment- even if it’s intended as a quiet time to calm down- will be potentially detrimental.”

“Oh, doc, I’m  _ definitely _ telling him it was your idea when he complains about standing in the corner,” Gil teases. She smiles.

“Consistency between the three of you will also be critical. You’re here, you’re primary. I know Jessica usually has final say, but you’re the one with eyes on Malcolm and who will be dealing with immediate issues, so she needs to let you take point for now,” Gabrielle explains.

“One thing I’ve got to hand to her- she’s never undermined me or Jackie in front of either of the kids. We talk about big issues before we handle them, but in the day to day, she backs us up,” Gil assures her.

“What else do  _ you _ think will be important, Gil?” Gabrielle asks.

_ “How _ I’m spanking him,” Gil says. “If he’s going to be volatile, there’s more chance than usual of me needing to punish him. So I need to spank him so it hurts in the moment, but doesn’t leave him sore for long. Like I did last night.”

“Going too easy on him would backfire, but yes, avoiding long term soreness would be preferable, I agree,” she says. Gabrielle isn’t a huge fan of corporal punishment, mainly because it’s often administered in ways that do more harm than good. But she’s never seen any evidence of anything but thought out, consistent, loving discipline from the Arroyos. If anything, she’s more confident in Gil’s discipline for Malcolm than she is Jessica’s. It’s probably for the best that his mother is out of the country- she’s emotionally volatile in her own right, and prone to a more reactive style of punishment, inconsistently responding based on the stress of the day.

With that in mind, she adds, “Perhaps you should go ahead and call Jessica and Jackie. My phone has both speaker and conference call capabilities, and this way I’m on hand to answer any questions.”

“Thanks, doc,” Gil tells her with a smile, and he gives her the numbers for his wife and co-parent.

“Hell? This is Jackie Arroyo,” Jackie says, answering her father’s home phone. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“It’s me, Jacks. I’m with Mal’s psychiatrist- our kid’s gotten himself into some trouble, and I wanted to talk to you and Jessica together,” Gil tells her. “He’s safe, he’s going to be fine. But he’s made some really bad, potentially dangerous choices lately.”

“Then you’d better call Jessica,” Jackie says easily. She doesn’t push for details- not out of a lack of worry, Gabrielle knows. Gil and Jackie are a  _ unit _ when facing a problem. Jackie isn’t panicking because she knew from Gil’s tone there wasn’t a need, even before he reassured her. Jessica will likely be another story.

“Dr. De Leu?” Jessica answers, obviously having the office number saved in her cell phone.

“Are you somewhere you can talk, Jessica? Not an emergency, but it is important,” Gil tells her.

“I- yes. One moment,” Jessica says, and the noise around her changes. “We were getting dinner at the hotel restaurant, I’ll just step out to my room for a moment. What’s happened?”

“Jackie, did you know Jessica’s out of the country?” Gil asks conversationally.

“No,” Jackie says, surprised.

“Neither did I, until a uniform picked Malcolm up last night,” Gil explains.

“That boy,” Jessica sounds furious. “He assured me he’d spoken to you, and that he would be staying with Gil. He even told me you were glad to have the company while Jackie is out of town. Put him on, I’m going to have  _ words _ with my son.”

“The police picked him up?” Jackie asks as soon as Jessica pauses.

“He was wandering the streets high as a kite,” Gil tells them.

“Is he alright?” Jackie asks, at the same time and Jessica demands, “What? How? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. But- everybody sit down. Jess, if you’ve got a drink, put it down,” Gil instructs. There’s a soft ‘clink’ on the other end of the line. Gil does know Jessica well. Gabrielle is deeply curious about the relationship between these three- she’d initially pegged Gil as Malcolm’s soon to be step father, when the boy first started seeing her. A few months later, Jackie had entered the picture, and after a ‘family’ session where she worked with Jessica and Gil on how to support Malcolm, had arrived to meet Gil and asked for a word. She’d explained that she felt like she was going to be a step mother, though Gil had no actual blood ties to Malcolm. When Gil had been ready to introduce her to the kid, he’d asked for a conference with Gabrielle first, worried about how Malcolm’s fragile mental health would adapt to the change. Malcolm was a groomsman and Ainsley the flower girl at the Arroyo’s wedding, and whatever had been between Gil and Jessica was never spoken of again.

“Malcolm decided to find a more effective drug combination than the one Dr. De Leux has him on. Only he didn’t do it by speaking to his doctor. He’s been skipping some pills, upping other dosages, and adding street drugs. Jessica, has he asked you for any pills lately?” Gil asks.

“No, but he knows where I keep things. I might not have noticed if he helped himself to a few,” Jessica admits. She sounds teary.

“That isn’t your fault, Jess. You trusted him. Hell, we all did. Actually, this is the part you’re really going to hate- it wasn’t even really all Malcolm’s fault. Glass down, Jess. Out of reach, please,” Gil requests. After a beat, he continues, “Dr. Whitley suggested the things Mal has been trying. He was creating his own version of a susceptibility cocktail.”

There’s a crashing noise. “Is everything alright, Jessica?” Jackie asks softly. Gabrielle is impressed that Gil predicted the reaction- though she wonders what Jessica threw.

“One moment. I threw my phone.” Jessica’s voice is distant, then clearer when she says, “My apologies, everyone. I just- I cannot believe…”

“He’s been sneaking in for extra visits,” Gil explains. “And sneaking psychology journals by having the subscription sent to Dr. Whitley. That’s where Martin saw the article about susceptibility cocktails.”

“I’m coming home,” Jackie says abruptly. “I’ll call someone for  _ Papi. _ An agency. Something.”

“I can be home in less than a day,” Jessica agrees.

“Ladies, don’t cancel your plans,” Gabrielle says, interrupting for the first time. “Malcolm is  _ less _ in crisis now than he was two days ago. This is good. Finding out is terrifying, but it’s progress. Now, we can fix it. It’s going to be a rough few weeks, but Gil can handle it. You can all be part of his recovery from where you are. He’s going to need a lot of kinds of support, and he’s going to need consistency. With Jessica and Ainsley out of town, he’s not moving between households. That’s ideal, right now. Same bed, every night. Same adult enforcing the rules. Consistency is key around him, because nothing inside of him is going to feel consistent for a little while,” she explains.

“That makes sense,” Jessica says slowly.

“I’ll take good care of our kid,” Gil promises her.

“We are  _ definitely _ having a family meeting tonight, even if it will be over the phone,” Jackie decides.

“That sounds like a good idea to me,” Jessica says.

“Gabrielle and I have been talking about what his mental state is like- both from dealing with his father’s manipulation and what the drugs and messed up doses are doing to him. I need to talk to you both about consequences, before the family meeting so we’re all on the same page,” Gil tells them.

“That’s a good idea,” Jackie agrees. “I assume you’re going to have to go in to work today- call us when you leave the station?” she suggests.

“That’ll be pretty late, for Jessica,” Gil points out.

“Gil, if it’s 3 am, it’s 3am. I can and will be up at whatever hour you need me to sort this out. Malcolm comes first,” Jessica insists.

“Okay. It’s a date,” Gil tells them. “I’m going to get him home and settled, then head in to work for a couple of hours. We’re between cases, but I’ve got some paperwork I’ve got to get turned in. Donnely’s covering for me this morning. I’ll call you as soon as I leave.”

“Alright. Call us sooner if either of you needs us,” Jackie tells him softly. “We are only a phone call away,  _ mi amor.” _

“That goes double for me. I’ll have my cell with me at all times, just please call, Gil. I need to know you’ll call if he needs me,” Jessica pleads.

“Do you want to talk to him now?” Gil asks.

“Yes,” Jessica says softly.

“Please,” Jackie agrees.

Gabrielle wordlessly goes to retrieve Malcolm from the hall. He’s mindlessly tossing one of the balls she keeps for younger visitors in the toy bin. “Your mom and Jackie need to hear your voice, so they know you’re really okay,” she tells Malcolm.

He clutches the ball tighter instead of putting it down. When they return, Gil is on his feet, and he gestures Malcolm forward to the desk, so he can stand in front of the phone. “C’mere,” he says, wrapping an arm around Malcolm’s waist from behind and pulling him close.

“Hi,” Malcolm says softly, tentatively.

_ “Mi luz, _ how are you feeling?” Jackie asks.

“Okay. Gil let me sleep with him last night, so I actually got some rest,” Malcolm reports.

“Funny, how it helps to have an adult around,” Jessica says, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

“Jess,” Gil says softly. He pulls Malcolm closer, resting his chin on the top of his son’s head.

“I’m sorry, you’re right, Gil, this isn’t the time. I’m glad you’re alright, Malcolm,” Jessica tells her son. She’s obviously upset but trying her best to be supportive.

“Thanks, mom. For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry,” Malcolm tells them all.

“We’ll handle all of that. The most important thing is that you’re okay, and you know we love you,” Jackie tells him.

“I love you so much, Malcolm. I can’t imagine losing you.  _ That bastard _ had no right to risk your safety… I’m sorry. We’ll talk more later. I love you, sweetheart,” Jessica says.

“Later?” Malcolm asks, twisting to look up at his dad.

“Family meeting this evening,” Gil tells him. “Our first teleconference.”

Malcolm nods. “I’ll talk to you all then,” he says.

“Be good for Gil,  _ mi luz. _ He only wants what’s best for you,” Jackie tells him.

“I will. Love you,  _ mami,” _ Malcolm says softly.

“I love you too,” Jackie tells him gently before hanging up.

“You’ll be okay. You’ve got that Milton blood in you- we’re made of strong stuff,” Jessica assures him. Adding, “And you don’t have to wait for tonight, if you need something. Just call me, okay? I’m right here on the other end of the phone. I love you, Malcolm,” she adds.

“I love you too, Mom. I’m okay, I promise,” Malcolm assures her. His mom hangs up, and they’re alone in the office once more.

Malcolm tilts his head up to look at Gil, rather than moving out of his loose embrace. “Is mom okay?” he asks.

“She’s upset, because she’s worried,” Gil tells him, pushing Malcolm’s hair back with his hand so he can see the kid’s face. “She’ll be fine, I promise. We’ll call her more than usual for the next couple of weeks, so she knows you’re okay.”

Malcolm accepts this. Gabrielle has seen divorced families that weren’t half as functional as the Whitley-Arroyos, and she’s very, very glad they’ve made their odd little group work. Malcolm instinctively trusts Gil to look out for his mom, as much as he trusts the older man to keep him safe. And Gil’s care for the family doesn’t begin and end with Malcolm- she’s seen Ainsley ride on his shoulders, giggling and carefree, and watched him hold Jessica while she cries. 

Gabrielle decides it’s time to move them forward. “I need blood, and I’ll call in the smaller dosages to the usual pharmacy. For now, have him take a half dose of everything except the mood stabilizer he stopped and the Propranolol,” she tells Gil. “Tell the nurses in the hall I need a full drug panel on Malcolm.”

“This is you punishing me, isn’t it?” Malcolm asks with an exaggerated wince. He’s not afraid of needles, but blood does sometimes make him anxious. Gabrielle wishes it weren’t necessary today, but it is.

Mindful of how sensitive he’s been feeling, she tells him, “No, this is me doing my part to keep you safe. The journal you’re going to be keeping for the next month isn’t punishment, either.”

“Journal?” Malcolm asks.

“I want you to take time every evening to check in with yourself and look at how you’re feeling. Try to identify what’s a genuine emotional response and what’s related to the drugs,” Gabrielle tells him. It’ll be a good focus exercise, and hopefully give him a little bit of distance from the things that upset him, after the fact. She’s hoping that naming the moments where his thoughts and feelings were out of control will, paradoxically, give him a little control back.

Malcolm looks ready to object. Gil squeezes him gently with the arm still wrapped around his waist, giving him a warning look when the kid looks up at him. Malcolm sighs. “Yes, ma’am,” he agrees.

She sends them off to get blood work and sits down to write out new prescriptions, confident that Malcolm is going to be fine. He’s got an excellent support system.


	3. The One Where They Have A Family Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil gets Malcolm home. The parents make plans. A family meeting is called.

Malcolm insists that he’s old enough to get a blood draw without his dad, so Gil waits in the lobby. Once the test is done they leave, and Gil drives to Borders before taking Malcolm home.

“What are we doing?” the kid asks, getting out of the car.

“New notebook,” Gil says. “And I want you to find two things you’re interested in reading- at least one from the fiction section.”

Malcolm looks surprised. Yeah, he’s in trouble- but Gil knows the kid, and grounding him with  _ nothing _ to do wouldn’t be punishment, it would be torture. He’s already figuring they’ll work a weekly library trip into the grounding, but today they need a notebook and they’re on a time crunch. “Thanks, Gil,” Malcolm says softly.

Gil has an idea as the kid is browsing notebooks and picks a second one, the style Malcolm prefers. He’s not sure what the girls will think, but he’s got an idea for how to manage punishment for the absolutely ridiculous list of misbehavior Malcolm’s racked up lately.

When it’s time to look for books, Malcolm doesn’t actually make it into the stacks, because his attention is caught by the new releases. He picks up a copy of  The Short History of Nearly Everything . “I’m actually going to be grounded long enough to learn about  _ everything _ that’s happened,” he says with a laugh.

“Nearly,” Gil points out, teasing him. Malcolm heads for the fiction section next. Gil is relieved his non-fiction choice isn’t some psychology or ‘understanding the mind’ tome- probably, Malcolm knew he was unlikely to allow it, and didn’t want to push after the revelation about the psychology journals.

Malcolm picks up a book called  We Need To Talk About Kevin , frowning as he reads the summary but looking intrigued. Gil picks up another copy, looking it over, and his stomach drops. He’s regretting the ‘one thing from the fiction section’ rule already.

Malcolm puts it down, assuring him, “It sounds interesting… but I don’t think I’m really in the right place for it, right now.” He holds up  The Zombie Survival Guide to show Gil next, grinning mischievously.

“I said fiction,” Gil teases. Malcolm skips over the typical YA fiction series with barely a glance, though Gil knows for a fact he’s still reading the Harry Potter books as they come out. He wanders aimlessly for a few minutes, returning to the new releases tables.

He picks up a copy of the book they had signs advertising on the way in-  The Davinci Code . “This looks interesting,” he says, passing it to Gil.

Gil reads the blurb and agrees that the book looks intriguing. “Sounds good,” he says.

“Read it with me?” Malcolm asks suddenly. “I mean, not with me with me, we can read separately. But would you read it too, so we can talk about it?” he asks.

“Sure, kid,” Gil tells him, surprised. He picks up a second copy.

Malcolm smiles happily. Gil is glad this quick stop has given the kid something to look forward to. He buys the books and notebooks, ignoring Malcolm’s questioning look at the second notebook, and they stop for the prescriptions on the way home.

Once they’re home, Gil figures out what ‘half a dose’ looks like and gives Malcolm his meds. The kid is obviously put out by the lack of control, but he doesn’t argue, only glares at Gil, frowning when he adds the new medicines to the ones in his gun safe.

Pills taken care of, Gil makes sandwiches for lunch, then settles down across his kid at the table. “I’m going to need to go in to work for a few hours,” he tells Malcolm.

Mal looks up earnestly. “I’ll stay put and behave! I swear, Gil, I won’t go anywhere. You can trust me!” He’s visibly nervous, but Gil’s positive he’s sincere.

“Okay, kid. I can’t watch you every second of every day. Part of you earning our trust back is going to have to be giving you chances to make the right decisions. You can’t do that, unless I give you the chance to try,” Gil tells him, getting up to get napkins, which he’d forgotten.

“I’ll be good,” Malcolm repeats.

“I know you will, kid.” Gil strokes the back of Mal’s neck gently as he hands him a napkin.

He sits back down. “Let’s talk about what I expect of you, while I’m gone.”

Malcolm jumps in with what he assumes the rules will be. “Stay in the house. I’m guessing no TV or computer. Am I confined to my room?” he asks. Jessica usually sends him to his room when he’s grounded at home. Gil honestly hasn’t had to enforce more than a few hours of a grounding at a time, before, so he’s not sure how it usually goes. But he’s mindful of what Dr. De Leux said about isolation, and he doesn’t want to set a precedent that’s going to cause trouble later.

“No, you have the run of the house. You can call me, your mom, or Jackie if you need us, but that’s it. No other calls. I can get the call logs for the home phone and your cell, Mal- don’t make me need to check them,” Gil tells him with a serious look. Malcolm doesn’t spend much time on the phone anyway, but Gil wants him to feel like his parents are taking these boundaries seriously.

“I won’t, Gil,” Malcolm assures him.

“Do you have your Gameboy?” Gil asks.

Mal shakes his head. “It’s at home.”

“Well, video games are off limits for now, too. Reading is fine, music is fine,” Gil’s pretty sure that’s consistent with Jessica’s usual. Mal’s unsurprised nodding makes him think he’s right. “I’ve also got something I want you to work on while I’m gone. A little writing project,” Gil tells him. “I want to know why. You’re going to write it all down, and map out what you were thinking. It’s okay if you can’t get it all written down today, and you don’t have to work on it the whole time I’m gone. At least an hour, though,” he says.

This plan serves two purposes. On one hand, it’s going to give him an idea of how much of what went wrong was Malcolm’s bad choices and how much was Martin’s manipulation. That will help when he’s deciding how severely to punish Malcolm, within whatever punishments they all agree on. It will also give the kid a project and a goal, so he doesn’t feel completely adrift while Gil’s gone.

“Yes, sir,” Malcolm tells him, looking guilty and a little nervous.

They’ve both finished their sandwiches, so Gil gets up and comes around the table to rest a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “This isn’t a punishment, kid, it’s me needing to know what’s going on so I can help,” he tells Mal. Malcolm turns in his chair to hug his dad, burying his face in Gil’s waist.

“You’re going to be really mad when you read it,” Mal tells him sadly.

“Shh,” Gil strokes his hair. “I already know the big picture of what you did. Even if some of the details are bad, it’s not going to change anything important, kid. I’ll still love you, and we’re gonna work through all the mistakes you made. It’ll be okay,” Gil promises. “Yes, I’m upset with the choices you’ve made lately. I guess it’s fair to say I’m ‘mad’. But telling me the details won’t make me madder, I promise. It  _ is _ a chance for you to show me you’re taking this seriously, by doing a good job on your write up.”

Malcolm clings tighter. “I’m really, really sorry, dad.”

“I know, kiddo, I know. We’ll work it out,” Gil reassures him. Malcolm clings for a long moment, and Gil lets him, just petting his hair and gently reassuring the kid that, however badly he’s messed up, he’s loved.

Mal seems a little steadier when he lets go, and Gil strokes his head again before stepping over to the kitchen island to retrieve the second notebook from the Borders bag. It’s navy blue, and someone has whimsically embossed ‘You Can Do It’ on the cover in gold. Malcolm takes it, only slightly reluctant. He smiles when he sees the message on the cover.

“I wondered why you were buying another notebook,” he says.

“I thought it’d be a good way for you to organize your thoughts and get a handle on what’s been going on,” Gil tells him. He hesitates, not sure if Malcolm’s ready to be left alone.

The kid has always been observant. “You need to go to work, don’t you?” Mal asks.

“Will you be okay?” Gil asks him.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll call Jackie if I get upset and Mom if I’m just lonely, so you can focus on work. Or you if it’s an emergency. I promise, Gil,” Malcolm tells him earnestly, and Gil thinks that he should probably get going- Mal needs to know Gil trusts him to follow the rules.

“Okay,” he says softly. “I love you, kid. I’ll see you later.” He hugs Malcolm, who clings a little but lets go quickly, and leaves for work. He can’t help looking over his shoulder as he gets to the car, but Mal has already closed the door. He’s sure the kid will be fine.

Gil works fast, and he’s all caught up on paperwork by four thirty, when he goes to talk to his lieutenant. The man understands Gil’s complex family, and agrees to give him the next few weekends off, pending active investigation work. Gil has covered plenty of weekends for coworkers having babies or taking vacations- they all cover for each other. He also suggests Gil can work partly from home if he needs to, when they’re in between active cases. Gil is grateful to have such an understanding boss.

He calls the girls on his drive home, merging the calls and putting them on speaker.

“How is he?” Jessica asks immediately.

“He was fine when I left for work. He really wanted to prove to me that he could follow the rules. Did he call either of you?” Gil asks. Both women answer in the negative. “Then he’s probably fine. I have him writing us an explanation of what the hell he was thinking.”

“That’s a good idea,” Jackie says. “It’ll give you some idea of how hard you need to be on him.”

“And clue us in on what else he’s been up to, aside from the big things,” Jessica adds. “I’ve checked his debit card, and he’s been pulling out larger than usual amounts of cash, lately. Presumably for drugs. I also found the subscription for the psychology journals. I don’t usually check his spending.”

“You haven’t had a reason to,” Jackie assures her. “We’ve all trusted Malcolm. He’s a very bright young man. But he’s a teenager- all kids make mistakes.”

“Mal just does it the way he does everything else- with complete dedication,” Gil muses.

“And we all trusted him to make better choices than this,” Jackie reminds them. “I even spoke to him about making sure you two kept in touch while I was gone! I’m tempted to put him over  _ my _ knee when I’m back, for breaking that promise.”

“You know, I’ve never been tempted to spank him myself before. But I have to say, if I were there…” Jessica says, surprising both of them.

She’d been concerned when Gil had first spanked Malcolm. She’d been at her wit’s end, but corporal punishment wasn’t something she was familiar with personally, and she’d worried Malcolm would connect it with violence more in line with his father’s victims experiences. She’d trusted Gil enough to try it, and seen that it worked- Malcolm listens when Gil (or occasionally Jackie) spanks him, and learns from his mistakes. And if anything, he’s gotten closer to Gil since the older man began a more hands on approach to helping raise him. The biggest reason, though, is how much it helps with Malcolm’s constant anxiety. When he’s been spanked, he knows he’s been forgiven. He doesn’t jump at shadows and retreat from them, afraid of disapproval. But Gil is still surprised to hear her suggest  _ doing _ it herself.

“One of the reasons I’ve never spanked him is that I am more… emotional than either of you. I don’t want to risk hurting him in a moment of temper,” Jessica confesses. Gil makes a surprised sound. He’d never realized that was where Jess’ hesitance came from. She’s a great mother, despite everything, and he’s impressed she’s recognized the danger, as much as he’s saddened to realize she doesn’t trust herself.

“Right now, though, you’re thousands of miles away with time to calm down before you see him,” Jackie points out.

“That actually works with something I’ve been thinking,” Gil says. A lot of his paperwork was fairly mindless, and he’s mostly been thinking about Malcolm all afternoon. “I’m not comfortable spanking him until I’m sure he’s levelled out a little. And the doc said it’s going to be close to a month before he’s fully back to normal. So I was thinking that, since this is too big to punish him for all at once anyway, maybe we should break it down.”

“Units,” Jackie says immediately. “Everything to do with illegal drugs. Everything to do with his  _ father. _ Lies, specifically. His medications. Build one lesson on the other, starting with the ones he’s most able to handle discussing.”

“It makes sense. You’ve got a whole month,” Jessica points out.

“Trust is a big one. The things we didn’t make specific  _ rules _ about, because we trusted him. Like the currently unknown contents of your medicine cabinet, Jess,” Gil adds.

“Or promising me he’d help you two keep in touch, then taking advantage of the me being gone to play you against each other,” Jackie points out.

“Maybe that’s the final ‘unit’,” Jessica says thoughtfully. “How all of those things came together to damage our trust in him, and why trust is so important.”

Jessica’s hit the nail on the head. “We can time that one for when you ladies are back,” Gil suggests.

“You want each of us to spank him?” Jackie asks, sounding surprised.

“I talked to Gabrielle some, about punishment. Mal’s going to be all over the place, and she doesn’t want me to let the little stuff go. So he has a firm foundation during all of this. So I’m not comfortable giving him the kind of spanking ‘You snuck out to see your father, multiple times, hid medical journals by giving them to him, and let him talk you into something you knew was risky’ earns him, all at once. He’d be tender if not outright sore for a few days after a spanking like that, and who knows how many little spankings I’ll have to give him during that time.”

“You want to break it down into little chunks,” Jackie realizes.

“It seems safer,” Gil admits. “He threw a tantrum last night and knocked a soup bowl across the room. If he has a little fit at me, or tests his grounding, I don’t want to be giving him that spanking on a bottom that’s still recovering from a serious belting.”

“You’re saying he gets a spanking for each smaller piece of misbehavior, rather than a much harder spanking for all of it?” Jess asks. “That makes sense. It’ll certainly give him a chance to think about  _ all _ of the mistakes he made.”

“One ‘unit’ a week?” Jackie asks. “So that it’s spread out, and he’s not getting a spanking every night?”

“I can ‘batch’ some of the smaller things that go together, make sure I’m not spanking him dozens of times,” Gil muses.

“The things about his father- one for going to see him without permission or telling anyone, one for doing what his father told him about the medicines, and a little one for hiding the journals?” Jackie suggests.

“That seems fair,” Jess agrees.

“I want him to think about what he did. So maybe Sunday each week we make a list of everything that falls into that week’s category, and he helps me decide what he needs for each one. They don’t all have to be spankings,” Gil points out. “Though, he’s already grounded for a month. Jess, I need some pointers on what that looks like.”

“No TV, no games, no phone. I send either of the children to their room when they’re grounded because otherwise they torment each other,” Jessica explains. “No going out with friends, or on his own unless he’s with a parent, or going somewhere like school that I’ve given him permission to be.”

“Okay, that’s what I told him, basically. Books and music are still okay?” he checks.

“Yes. They need  _ something _ to occupy their time. Music can be lost if it’s used as a weapon- no blasting angry music to show the whole house how mad you are,” Jessica tells him.

“Makes sense. I’ll let you know if I run into any questions,” Gil decides.

“What order should the units be in?” Jackie asks. “And are you starting this Sunday?”

“I think he can handle ‘no illegal drugs’ by two days from now. I wouldn’t want to get into the complicated stuff, like why he wanted to believe Martin was trying to help or being desperate enough to feel better that he changed up his meds, yet,” Gil admits.

“So- drugs first, then lies, and which is going to be harder, the meds or Martin?” Jessica asks.

“Martin,” Gil answers automatically. “He wouldn’t  _ need _ the meds if it weren’t for Martin.”

“I agree,” Jackie says. “That sounds like a good order: drugs, lies, meds, Martin, trust.”

“We’re agreed, then,” Gil says. “I’ll get some food in the kid, and call you after dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Jessica tells him.

“We’ll be waiting,  _ mi amor,” _ Jackie tells him.

Malcolm is sitting sideways on the couch with the notebook propped up on his knees when Gil comes in. “Gil!” he says, jumping to his feet. He holds the notebook out nervously. “I did it. I don’t know if it’s what you wanted, but I did it.”

Gil takes it, surprised. “You worked hard, to get that all done this afternoon.”

“You said you needed to know,” Malcolm says awkwardly, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck.

“Good work, kid.” Gil pulls Mal close and kisses his hair. “I’ll read it before we call Mom and  _ Mami, _ okay?”

Malcolm looks nervous. “Can’t you read it now?”

“I was going to fix dinner,” Gil tells him.

“I’ll make grilled cheese. You read!” Malcolm suggests.

Gil doesn’t see the harm- it’s food, and if the kid makes them, maybe he’ll be more inclined to eat. So he agrees, and settles down to read Mal’s explanation.

The kid is flipping the second grilled cheese onto a plate when Gil comes into the kitchen, pulling him away from the counter to hold him tight. “Gil?” Mal asks nervously. “Did I do it wrong?”

“God, no, kid,” Gil says, a little choked up. “I just- I hate that I can’t make it all better for you, kid. Bad of an idea as it was,  _ I wish it had worked,” _ Gil admits. He knows how much Malcolm hates the mess inside his brain. But he hadn’t realized just how actively desperate Mal is to feel normal.

Malcolm clings to him, hard. “I really thought it was going to. His explanations made so much sense,” he admits.

“I could kill him for getting your hopes up,” Gil says softly, stroking the back of his kid’s head.

“I’m okay. I’ve come back down to earth, and I know Gabrielle does everything possible to have me on the best, safest combination of medicines she can,” Malcolm tells him earnestly.

“Still, though,” Gil acknowledges.

“It would’ve been nice,” Malcolm agrees.

Gil kisses the kid’s head and releases him, and they sit together at the table, eating their grilled cheese. When they’re done, Gil washes the few dishes while Malcolm dries and puts away. The kid is getting steadily more nervous.

When Gil puts the sponge back in the holder, Mal takes a deep breath. “Time to call the moms?” he asks.

“Yep,” Gil tells him. “Come on, let’s get comfy.” 

Gil figures he needs to be able to see Mal’s face, for this discussion, but he also needs to be able to comfort the kid. So he sits down on the couch, pulling Mal close. The kid automatically leans against Gil’s shoulder, nervous. “You’re okay,” he assures Mal, petting his hair as he dials.

“Hello, Gil. How are you, Sunshine?” Jessica asks when the call connects. He’s called her first, to give her a moment to talk to Mal before they get started.

“I’m okay, mom. Gil’s taking good care of me,” Mal assures her.

“As he should’ve been since I left,” Jessica says sharply. Mal burrows against Gil. “But we’ll talk about that later, honey. For now, I’m glad to know you’re alright.”

Gil calls Jackie next. “My boys,” she says warmly as she picks up. “How are you?”

This time, Mal leaves Gil to answer. “We’re okay over here. I think we’re feeling guilty and a little embarrassed,” he reports.

Mal nods against his shoulder. The kid  _ hates _ having to face all three of them at once when he’s messed up. Usually, one or two of them only find out after the fact. That way, he knows he’s already forgiven. Now, Gil is sure he’s feeling a little ganged up on.

“We love you,  _ mi luz, _ even when you are naughty,” Jackie assures him.

“Nothing will ever change that, Sunshine,” Jess adds.

“They’re right, kid,” Gil tells him, kissing his hair.

Malcolm begins to cry. “I’m so sorry. I’m such a screw up, I ruined everything, you’ll never trust me again. Why do Gil and Jackie even bother? I never learn.”

“Kid. Kid,” Gil says, pulling Malcolm back just enough that he can see his face. “You’re not a screw up. It’s been a very bad month, yes. But we’ll get it sorted out.”

“And we bother because we love you,” Jackie tells him.

Gil gives Mal an encouraging smile, and the kid trembles as he pushes his way back into Gil’s arms. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Malcolm, we’re going to get all of this sorted out,” Jessica assures him. “Gabrielle will help you fix what’s wrong chemically, and work through what this latest round with your father has done to you. And we’ve all discussed what punishment for this little disaster is going to entail.”

Malcolm nods- Gil is pretty sure that means he wants to know what he’s in for. “You’re grounded for the month. I think ‘till your mom gets back’ is a good timeline to use. We talked about what that means already.”

“But just so we’re on the same page,” Jackie picks up, “Jessica, would you remind us all what ‘grounded’ usually looks like at your house?”

“No games, no TV, no phone, no computer time. Music and books are okay. You don’t leave the house without a parent- in this case, Gil- unless there’s somewhere you’re supposed to be, like Dr. De Leux’s office, while he’s at work, in which case I’ll send a car,” Jessica lists off. “And seeing your father is definitely off limits.”

“Mom!” Malcolm yelps, sitting up to look at the phone in surprised betrayal.

“He  _ did _ this to you, Malcolm,” Jessica insists.

“Once,” he bargains. “Let me see him once, to tell him I know what he did. Let me show him it didn’t work.”

“Gabrielle thought it might be a good idea,” Gil admits.

Jackie stays quiet, leaving the decision to Jessica. She knows Martin Whitley better than any of them, after all.

“Gil goes with you,” she says softly. “Not just to the hospital- that’s  _ always  _ supposed to happen. He goes into the cell. If Martin won’t put him on his approved visitors list, you don’t see him.”

“Okay,” Malcolm agrees. “I understand.”

“Good. Because if you sneak out to see him while you’re grounded, I will fly home and spank you myself!” Jessica announces.

Malcolm looks stricken. “I promise, mom,” he whispers. Apparently, the idea of his mom spanking him upsets Mal. Gil stows that thought to discuss with Jess later, before she gets home.

“Gil is also not going to put up with you having a bad attitude while you’re grounded. Rudeness and sulking are against the rules,  _ mi luz. _ It’s not your dad’s fault that you’re in trouble,” Jackie says, changing the subject. Gil is grateful- he hadn’t known what to say.

“Yes, ma’am,” Malcolm says softly. Gil pulls the kid back against his side, holding him close. Poor Mal is miserable, having all of the most important people in his life upset with him. The kid leans into him gratefully.

“Gil, if Mal does need help with his attitude, you may find a  _ chancla _ an effective teacher that won’t do him any harm,” Jackie suggests. Gil considers it- a flip flop on bare skin will sting horribly, but it won’t land with as much force as the spoon. His wife is a smart woman.

“What’s a- what did you call it?” Malcolm asks nervously.

“A flip flop. Trust me, it’ll sting, but you’ll feel fine a few hours later,” Gil assures him.

Malcolm winces. “You won’t need to, I promise, I’ll be good!” he assures Gil.

“You’ll do your best. And if you make a mistake, your dad will spank you and you’ll be forgiven,” Jackie assures him.

Malcolm, who is apparently still all over the place, begins to tear up. “You guys don’t even think I  _ can _ be good anymore!” he accuses, a few tears escaping. Gil turns the kid to face him and brushes them away.

“Shhh, Sunshine, of course you can. You made some big mistakes, but that doesn’t change who you are, sweet boy,” Jessica assures him. This is why Gil never worries, with Jess. She can be quick tempered and volatile, but when her son needs her, really needs her, she’s there.

Gil makes quiet soothing noises, rubbing the back of Mal’s head. “Do you think so?” Mal asks, fixing him with a nervous, determined gaze. He’s mostly got the tears under control, but Gil can tell one wrong word will set him off again.

“Of course. I’ve known you for five years, Mal. This is just a month- it doesn’t cancel out everything else,” Gil tells him. “I love you, kid.”

“You know that,  _ mi luz, _ no matter what,” Jackie tells him, and Malcolm leans his forehead against Gil’s shoulder.

“Sorry. I’m a mess,” he apologizes.

“Nonsense. You’re not yourself,” his mom says. “Which is exactly why Gil is going to wait a couple more days before starting your punishment.”

“There are a lot of things we need to deal with, kid. And I don’t want to deal with any of them till you’re settled enough to really learn from it. So we’re going to take this slow,” Gil tells him.

“We’re going to do this in phases.” Jackie explains. “Tackling everything at once would be too much, so we’re going to look at each big issue on its own.”

“Like what?” Malcolm mumbles, clearly nervous.

“What do  _ you _ think we’re going to count as ‘big issues’?” Gil asks him. Malcolm sits up enough to look at him, giving the question the consideration it deserves.

“The drugs and messing with my meds. Everything with… seeing Dr. Whitley. The lies I told about mom leaving, and everything else,” Malcolm says. “Almost getting arrested.”

“I count almost getting arrested as part of the drugs. You were right about the other four, though,” Gil tells him. “Good boy.”

“We’re going to start with the straightforward ones,” Jackie tells him. “You definitely know better than to be taking street drugs, whatever you’re struggling with. Then lying to us. Then messing with your medication, and then Dr. Whitley.”

“The last thing we’re going to have to talk about is trust. How you damaged it, and how you earn it back,” Gil finishes.

“We’ve given you a lot of trust for a boy your age, Malcolm, and you’ve taken advantage,” Jessica adds.

Malcolm nods, accepting the scold. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Every Sunday while you’re grounded, we’re going to sit down and talk about the next category of mistakes. We’re going to talk together about what you did, and what punishment you deserve. We’ll spread them out through the week,” Gil tells him.

“That puts us dealing with trust just as your mom and I get back into town,” Jackie says. “Gil can handle the other conversations for all of us. That one, we need to deal with, too.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Malcolm mumbles. Gil doesn’t think he’s caught the implications of Jackie’s words, but given how much it upset him when his mom threatened to spank him, that’s probably for the best. They can discuss it when he’s levelled out some.

“A month from now, this will all be behind us, Sunshine,” Jessica tells him gently.

“I understand,” Malcolm says, sounding raspy, like his mouth’s gone dry. He’s probably anxious and upset- Gil knows the punishment before him is daunting. But the kid will be okay, he’s sure of it. Now, he just has to convince Malcolm.

“And we’ll love you the whole time, kid. You’re gonna be okay,” Gil tells him, kissing his hair and pulling him into a hug.

“You are so loved,  _ mi luz. _ You can handle this. We can handle it, together,” Jackie assures him.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Malcolm. We’re going to get through this- as a family,” Jessica assures him. Gil is surprised. She usually skirts words like family, trying to hide her discomfort when Mal calls Gil dad or uses  _ mami _ to refer to Jackie.

“Then can the family meeting be over, now?” Malcolm asks softly. “I’m at my limit.”

“Good job telling us,” Jackie praises him gently. “We’ll talk more soon,  _ mi luz.” _

“Love you,  _ mami. _ And mom- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so awful. I’m so sorry,” Malcolm says. “I never should’ve lied to you.”

“That’s a matter for another day, Sunshine. Gil- I have one more instruction for you, from this side of the family. You are  _ required _ to feed the boy Jell-O after you spank him Sunday. I’m not there to make it for him, so you’ll have to get it right,” she says firmly. Gil inwardly grins- it’s the perfect reassurance for Mal, who seems to breathe just a little easier. 

“Thanks mom. Love you,” the kid tells her, soft but sincere.

“I love you too, sweetheart. I love you, too,” Jessica says, disconnecting the call.

Now that they’re alone, Gil turns his whole attention to Malcolm. He’s a little bit anxious, but he seems fairly steady. He’s looking up at his dad, nervous and drained.

“You did great,” Gil tells him. “I know this is hard, and I’m proud of how you’re handling it.” Malcolm smiles up at him. Gil considers what to do next. Normally, he’d pop in a DVD and let the kid curl up against him. But tv is off limits.

“What do you  _ do _ while you’re grounded? I don’t know what we do with ourselves all evening, without the TV,” Gil admits.

“I read a lot. Thanks for getting me new books, that helps. I also re-read books I’ve enjoyed,” he explains. “I can go to my room so you can watch TV,” he offers bravely.

That gives Gil an idea. Jackie’s been reading the Harry Potter books, because her students love them. And he knows Mal does too. They need an evening activity that doesn’t break Malcolm’s grounding, that they can do together- even without Gabrielle’s warning about isolation ringing in his ears, Mal is way too fragile right now to banish him to his bedroom for the evening. Especially during the week when he’ll be spending his days alone.

“You know, I still haven’t read Harry Potter,” he tells Mal. “Jackie says they’re not just for kids, they’re really good. She’s got them around here somewhere. You up for re-reading them with me? We can take turns reading out loud.”

Malcolm throws himself at Gil, hugging him hard. “Yes, please!” he says, thrilled. “You’ll love them, they’re great- she’s got a new one coming out in a couple of weeks, I was going to re-read them anyway! They have a midnight release party at the bookstore, it’s going to be so cool!” Malcolm falters, realizing what he’s said. “Well, I’ll get it once I’m un-grounded, that gives us time to get you caught up!”

Gil knows the kid likes the books, and he figures that a night of freedom isn’t out of the question midway through his grounding, if Malcolm is good. He decides to make it a surprise, so that Mal doesn’t stress and worry about losing the chance. He knows the kid is going to act up, and the trouble with giving Mal something to look forward to is that he worries about losing it.

They work together to search the house for Jackie’s books. They have bookshelves, but she’s as likely to have books on her desk in the corner of their bedroom, or the bedside table. Gil finds a book and holds it up triumphantly. “Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban!” he announces.

Malcolm comes out of the bedroom holding up a book. “I’ve got Goblet of Fire here. We’re looking for Sorcerer’s Stone- it comes first, then Chamber of Secrets.”

Gil eventually finds them on the bottom shelf of the bookcase by the TV, with the DVDs. “Why would they be there?” he asks, mystified.

“They’re with the DVD versions,” Malcolm explains. “C’mon, I want to read first! You’re going to love these!”

They stack the series on the coffee table, each book ready when they get to it, and Malcolm settles against Gil on the couch. Gil is turned sideways against the arm, and Malcolm lies down on the couch, his torso propped up with his back against his dad’s chest. He begins to read excitedly and Gil sits back, enjoying the story and his kid’s joy.

Grounding Malcolm is going to be less about punishment than about structure, and keeping him close. Gil knows some of his reasoning was just fear about what the kid had gotten up to left to his own devices, and his own desire to keep him safe. But he’s realized he doesn’t remember Jess ever grounding the kid for more than a weekend, and he’s starting to realize why. Ainsley’s been grounded for a week or two at a time before, but she’s less prone to depression and isolation than Malcolm. Anything big, with him, Jess calls Gil to spank him.

Gil had been angry, Thursday night. He’d wanted to punish the kid severely, but hadn’t been willing to risk physical correction while he was so upset. Malcolm had also needed some sort of immediate consequence, before they dealt with the big stuff. It would probably be  _ harder _ on the kid to be waiting until Sunday for his first spanking, if he didn’t already feel like he was being punished.

So now Gil is walking the line between respecting what ‘grounded’ means in the Whitley household and making sure he doesn’t outright torture the kid for a month. He’s going to talk to Jessica about what kinds of outings he can justify, as long as he’s with Malcolm, and maybe loosening the rules in a week or two, if the kid is behaving. Malcolm’s request that he read  Davinci Code too had given him the idea of reading together.

As he listens to the story, he’s struck by the fact that he doesn’t want Malcolm feeling like the kid in the book- shoved to the side, unwanted and neglected. No, if anything, being grounded is going to mean he can’t shake Gil, even when he  _ wants _ more time alone.

Gil wraps an arm a little tighter around Malcolm, holding him close as he continues to read, grateful to have the kid with him, and safe. This could’ve been much, much worse. He kisses Malcolm’s head, overcome by the thought, and the kid twists to look at him, surprised, but smiles and snuggles closer when he sees Gil’s face. Gil thanks God for whatever force of nature looks out for brilliant, damaged kids like Mal.


	4. The One Where They Deal With The Drug Use

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first weekend of Malcolm's grounding. They begin establishing a routine, and start punishment . Gil and Malcolm discuss and agree on punishments for buying and using cocaine, buying drugs off of some guy in a coffee shop, and using drugs in the streets! Then, they begin the week's punishments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I posted this chapter and it disappeared, so apologies if you see it twice!!!
> 
> Let me know what you think of the plan for this week (do we want to check in with them again and see all the spankings this week? Or skip to next week?), and what punishments you'd like them to consider for future weeks, or any rebellions that crop up! I'd love to hear what you want to see!

Saturday is a good day. Malcolm is mellowing out, some, and Gil takes him to get groceries. They visit the small italian market that imports all of their ingredients, and get things to make pizza this week and enough dough to freeze some for later. He drags Malcolm on a run, and they make enchiladas for dinner. Mal is still a little bit all over the place, but he seems to be feeling better. He even accepts Gil handing him his medications without complaint. All in all, it’s a great day.

It is not, however, a great night. Malcolm wakes up screaming before midnight- never a good sign. Gil makes him cocoa and sends him back to bed once he’s calmed down, despite the kid’s protests. Malcolm needs  sleep, however hard won it is.

When he hears the kid yelling again a little before two, Gil bolts upright, mostly asleep himself. He makes it into the hall in time to see Malcolm throw his door open and make a mad dash for the hall, and he grabs the kid and gently coaxes him awake.

“I hate this, Gil,” Malcolm says miserably, his forehead pressed to his dad’s shoulder.

“I know you do, bud. I wish I could make it easier for you,” Gil tells him.

“Maybe I didn’t take enough of my anxiety meds?” Malcolm suggests.

“You took as much as the doc said it was safe for you to take, right now. We’re not going argue about half doses or full doses. You took the amount Dr. De Leux said you could have, and that’s all you’re taking,” Gil insists firmly.

“Gilllll,” Malcolm whines. “That’s not fair. You’re just torturing me for fun,” he laments.

Gil is holding the kid tight, still standing where he caught up with him in the hall, so it’s easy to free his right hand and land a sharp slap to the kid’s vulnerable backside. Mal squacks, offended.

“Jackie warned you- no sulking. The fact that you’re arguing to up your dosage proves to me you still aren’t thinking clearly about your medications,” Gil scolds.

Mal looks down, mood shifting mercurially to chastened. “Sorry, dad,” he says softly.

Gil strokes his hair. “Let’s get you back to bed,” he says, gently turning the kid.

Malcolm pushes back, reluctance clear. Knowing it’s genuine fear, not sass, Gil doesn’t swat him again. “C’mon, kid. I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep,” he promises, and Mal reluctantly lets himself be led back to bed.

In his room, Gil coaxes Mal to lay on his stomach so his dad can rub his back, soothing him. Mal lies quietly, but the tension in his young body belies his best attempts to ‘be good’ and sleep, and Gil knows something’s got to give.

“You’re never going to get to sleep, sitting here stressing yourself out,” he tells Malcolm.

The kid clamors up onto his knees, looking alarmed. “I’m not doing it on purpose, Gil, I swear!” he insists, clearly worried about his dad’s reaction.

“Shh, I know,” Gil tells him soothingly. “Lay back down.” Mal does, and Gil gets to his feet.

Mal is sitting up again in an instant. “Don’t leave me!” he pleads. “I’m sorry, I’ll sleep!”

“I don’t think you can, kid,” Gil tells him. “Not while you’re thinking about it so hard. I’m going to go get Harry Potter. We can read  one chapter, and see if that helps you get sleepy again.”

Mal smiles tremulously at the offer, and Gil goes to retrieve the book. He also takes the small book light Jackie keeps on her bedside table, thinking less light will probably be better as the kid tries to sleep.

Malcolm has rolled back over onto his stomach when Gil gets back, a clear request for comfort. He’s also slid far enough over that Gil can sit beside him on the bed, instead of in a chair. Gil complies with the silent requests, using his right hand to rub Mal’s back while his left holds the book. As he begins to read, he’s grateful to feel Malcolm beginning to relax. Before they finish the chapter, his eyes have slipped shut.

Gil marks the place where he’d stopped reading, slowing the circles he’s making on Mal’s back and lightening them until he’s just pressing softly. Slowly and carefully, he lifts his hand and shifts his weight to slide off of the bed without waking the kid.

As Gil returns to his own bedroom, he thinks that, however much he hates it when Mal has rough nights, he’s grateful beyond belief that the kid will still let him help. Malcolm may be fifteen and asserting his independence, sometimes in dangerous ways, but Gil thanks God he’s still willing to lean on his dad.

***

Sunday does not dawn cheerfully. Gil wakes up around eight and finds Malcolm hunched over a coffee cup in the kitchen, the pot more than half empty. “I saved you a cup this time,” Malcolm reports slowly.

“This time?” Gil asks.

Malcolm winces. “Forgot, last pot. So I had to brew another,” he explains.

Gil’s eyes widen. “You’ve had a pot and a half of coffee,” he says flatly.

“Maybe,” Malcolm tells him. The kid looks exhausted.

“So you’re what, trying to find stimulants I haven’t locked up, now?” Gil asks, exasperated. “Am I going to have to lock up the coffee? What’s next, you going to OD on pixie sticks?”

Malcolm wilts. “No. I’m sorry. Didn’ mean to do anything, just kept pouring another cup,” he admits.

Gil rubs a hand across his face and really looks at the kid. Mal is  done in. “Did you sleep at all?” he asks.

“Woke up around four, and couldn’t get back to sleep. I tried, Gil, really. Eventually I gave up and came out here thinking I’d make breakfast, only it was too early for breakfast, so I made coffee while I waited,” Mal explains.

“Next time, wake me up,” Gil orders gruffly. “I don’t want you sitting up all night by yourself.”

“Yessir,” Mal tells him, slumping back over his cup. Gil shakes his head, getting his own cup of coffee, and makes the kid pancakes.

Malcolm does perk up a little for food, and he’s mostly awake by the time they’re done eating and he’s taken his meds. Which, for Mal, translates into getting nervous. Gil sighs, realizing the kid is undoubtedly stressed about his upcoming punishment.

“When are you going to… you know?” Mal asks awkwardly. Right on the money.

“We have to talk about what you did wrong, first. And decide what you deserve. Then we can go ahead and get your spanking over with, and have a good afternoon,” Gil tells him. He’s planning a trip to the library, later. That should perk the kid up.

“Okay,” Mal says awkwardly. “Should we do that now?” he asks.

“Why don’t you go get your blue notebook?” Gil suggests gently. Mal does, bringing it back to the table nervously.

“Okay, kid, here’s what we’re going to do. I want you to write down everything you did with the street drugs that you think you deserve to be punished for. Then we’ll decide what you deserve,” Gil tells him. He’s hoping taking the time to think through his mistakes again will help cement the lesson.

“And what will you be doing?” Mal sulks.

“Jess gave me homework too, kid. I’m making Jell-o!” Gil tells him with a smile. Malcolm offers a faintly pleased grin, before looking serious and settling in to write.

By the time Gil is putting the Jell-O in the fridge, Mal is done. The kid doesn’t speak when Gil sits back down across from him at the table, so Gil looks at him expectantly, and Mal holds out the notebook. He’d wondered if it would be easier to write about mistakes than talk about them. He’s glad Mal seems to find some ease in letting Gil just read about what he’s done.

Gil’s eyes widen as he takes in the list of bad behavior. Malcolm has certainly been thorough. “The biggest things I see are buying the cocaine and using it repeatedly,” Gil tells him. "I think we can combine those into one punishment. That leaves us with meeting with the second dealer, and taking pills on the street in Manhattan. Either of those things could’ve gotten you hurt or killed.”

“I’m sorry, Gil,” Malcolm says softly. “It didn’t seem so bad at the time, but writing it down…”

Gil passes the notebook back. "Let's make it into a list, and leave room on each entry for consequences."

Malcolm draws a t-chart, listing the three offenses, then looks at Gil.

“What do you think you deserve, for the cocaine?” Gil asks.

“Is there a level above your belt?” Malcolm says with a guilty frown.

“Not that I’m willing to go with you, kid,” Gil tells him. “Don’t worry, I can make a strapping hurt plenty.”

Malcolm winces, writing 'belt' in the consequences column.

"What about buying drugs from the second dealer?" Gil asks next.

"That guy was a lot less shady," Malcolm offers. "I met him in a coffee shop, not an alley. And this is just for buying them, right?" Gil nods. "Then that's not as bad as the cocaine, is it?" the kid asks nervously.

"It's not," Gil assures him. "And not all of your punishments have to be spankings, kid. I'm open to other options. What do you think is fair?"

Malcolm really considers this. Gil knows the cocaine thing is going to be a harsh punishment, and he's pleased Malcolm is considering his suggestion of non-spanking punishments.

"I'd say ground me, but you already did that," Malcolm offers. "Maybe, I don't know, super grounded? Like, I have to stay in my room all day for a day or two?"

There's a good theory, here, but Gil doesn't want to punish Malcolm by doing anything that will isolate him, cutting off his support system. The kid  needs him right now. He remembers Gabrielle making the same point, and he has an idea.

"I don't want to isolate you, kid- when you go off on your own too much, that's when things get bad in your head, which makes them worse everywhere else," Gil tells him. "But Gabrielle and I talked about non-isolating punishments, and she had an idea you're going to hate, but I think it'll work."

Malcolm rubs the back of his neck nervously. "What?" he asks.

"Instead of sending you to your room, she suggested I stand you in the corner. That way you're not alone," Gil tells him.

Malcolm looks horrified, but he also clearly feels too guilty to argue. "Stand in the corner  all day?" he asks.

"No. That's way too much. We'll spread it out, do a little bit each evening this week. Sound fair?" Gil asks.

Malcolm nods, not meeting his eyes. He adds 'corner time' to the consequences list, looking at Gil. "How long?" he asks nervously.

"Isn't a time out supposed to be a minute for every year old the kid is?" Malcolm makes a face, and Gil remembers suddenly that that advice is usually given for toddlers. Oops. Before the kid can smart off and get into more trouble, Gil says, "Fifteen minutes a night sounds like long enough to me."

Malcolm makes a note, looking over the list desolately. "What about taking drugs in public, and wandering into the street because I was high, and almost getting arrested? That's as bad as the cocaine, isn't it?" he asks sadly.

"Not quite. You only endangered your life  once with this stunt. The cocaine, you risked your life buying it and each time you used it," Gil points out.

"Still…" Mal hesitates. Gil can see what the problem is- Malcolm feels like he deserves the belt, but he's scared to get two strappings in one week. He may yet need that severe of punishment this month, but for the first week Gil decides to be merciful.

"Why don't we use Jackie's hairbrush?" he suggests. "You really hated it that time I used your mom's brush on you, so that's a good inbetween implement when you need more than the spoon."

Gil had come over to pick Malcolm up for a visit to Dr. Whitley to find Jessica crying in the living room and Malcolm storming through the house. The kid had objected to something she'd said about not wanting him to go, and gone off on her in the worst tantrum Gil's ever seen from him. He'd hauled Malcolm straight up to his room and spanked him hard, and when the kid had remained stubbornly recalcitrant, he'd pulled his pants back up and sent him to go ask his mother for her hairbrush, as a little extra embarrassment and a reminder of who he'd hurt.

He'd also made the crying boy  return the brush at the end of the spanking, and he'd come downstairs to find Jessica sitting on the couch with her thirteen year old curled up half in her lap,  both of them crying. The visit to Dr. Whitley had been rescheduled, and Jess had made the kid Jell-O and they'd all had a long talk about how they felt about Dr. Whitley, followed by a family session with Gabrielle the next week to discuss everyone's overlapping stressors and how to handle them.

Gil knows that spanking sticks out in Malcolm's memory, and sure enough, he grimaces. "The brush really hurts," he agrees, writing it down.

“Okay, Mal, let’s talk about when,” Gil tells him next.

“You’re spanking me for the cocaine today, right?” Mal asks nervously. Gil nods. “Can we do that as soon as we’re done here? I want it over with,” the kid asks in a small voice.

“Of course. Now, as far as corner time, I'm thinking we time that every day to while we're fixing dinner, then after dinner it's over and we don't have to worry about it," Gil tells him. He’s planning on making reading Harry Potter together a regular daily event, and he doesn’t want to interrupt that with corner time, or have corner time come right before it, upping the chance of a fight.

Malcolm nods worriedly. "Yes, sir," he says.

“As far as the last spanking,” Gil says thoughtfully, “I think we should wait a few days. Say Wednesday, or maybe even Thursday?”

Malcolm looks at him, wide eyed, and Gil immediately realizes what the kid is thinking. “I’m not saying you’re still going to be sore from today on Wednesday,” he assures Mal. Today is going to be bad, but there’s no way he’d ever spank the kid hard enough that he was hurting three or four days later. That would be way too much for a sensitive kid like Mal.

“Then why?” Mal asks, fidgeting with the pen he’s been writing with.

“Tomorrow is the first day you’ll be on your own during the day while you’re grounded. I’d like to give you a chance to adjust to that before I spank you again,” Gil explains. He leaves out that he’ll be  shocked if the kid makes it through the week without either breaking the grounding or throwing such a fit about it that his dad spanks him. He’s trying to pick a day for the second spanking that will hopefully be after the first chafing under the reins and before Mal gets so bored he rebels.

“Wednesday?” the kid asks nervously.

“Sounds fair to me,” Gil agrees easily.

“Then I think we have a plan,” Malcolm says, staring at the page before him miserably. “How long does corner time last? All month?”

“I think this week is long enough. Seven days, fifteen minutes a day,” Gil tells him.

“That’s fair,” Malcolm admits. He closes the notebook. “Gil? Are you going to spank me now?” he asks nervously.

"I think it’s time, don’t you?” Mal looks down for a moment, then nods. “C'mon, kid, let's get this over with," Gil says, leading Mal to his bedroom and pausing in the hall. "I'm not wearing a belt," he realizes. Gil has on jeans and a henley, for a casual day at home. He's not wearing a belt or shoes. "One second." He leaves Malcolm in the hall and goes to his closet to get an implement.

Gil looks at his belts for a long moment, trying to decide which to use. He’s got a brown braided one, a reversible dress belt, and his casual black belt. He considers them, knowing this is going to be the longest, hardest strapping he's ever given Mal. He looks at the less wide, thick dress belt with the stitching and imagines it’s likely to leave welts. That’s not his goal- he wants the kid sore and red, not marked up and bruised. His casual one is wider and the edges are unfinished- Gil decides that’s the safest bet.

Malcolm is waiting awkwardly in the hall. The kid looks at the belt in his hand nervously, and Gil wraps a supportive hand on the back of his neck. “You’re okay, kid. It’s gonna be fine.”

Malcolm takes a deep breath and nods decisively, allowing himself to be gently led into his bedroom. Gil takes a seat on the bed, putting the belt down behind him for now. Malcolm comes immediately to stand beside him, pushing down the pajama pants he’s still wearing without waiting to be told. Gil is proud of him for the easy compliance, and gives him a warm smile.

Malcolm ducks his head, awkward, but Gil knows positive reinforcement during punishment settles him. He helps the kid into place, rubbing his back for a minute to help him relax. “What’s this spanking for, Mal?” he asks.

“I bought and used cocaine, trying to increase my serotonin levels. The guy I bought it from was terrifying, and walking up to drug dealers and saying, ‘Hey, you look like you have coke,’ is probably a pretty good way to get killed. I’m not even supposed to be wandering around in the park at night on my own. Everybody knows how dangerous it is. And I followed him out of the park to meet some other guy in an alley. They could’ve mugged or killed me. Then I  took the cocaine, more than once and in increasing doses, which, again, could have killed me,” Malcolm tells him, sparing no detail. Gil takes a few deep breaths to steady himself through the list of transgressions.

“Good, Malcolm. You’re exactly right. You don’t do  any of those things, because they can get you hurt or killed. We love you, kid. We want you safe,” Gil tells him, and begins the warm up. He spanks steadily, not increasing the force or speeding up as he goes. The purpose of the warm up is so that he doesn’t bruise Mal, spanking him hard. And the kid’s got an extremely hard spanking coming, so Gil warms him up thoroughly.

More thoroughly than Mal would prefer, evidently- the kid is groaning and twisting around in clear misery before he’s done. He’s not moving enough to escape Gil’s lap, but Gil resolves to watch him carefully- Mal is already worked up, and he doesn’t want the kid reaching back at a bad moment and getting the belt across his fingers later.

Gil decides he’s about done with the warm up, regardless. He ups the force of the swats slightly, going over the kid’s bottom two more times. Mal yelps and kicks his legs against the bed.

Once he’s completed a second circuit, Gil pauses. “Let’s get these down,” he tells Mal, reaching for the waistband of the kid’s underwear. Malcolm groans, burying his face in the comforter, but lifts his hips so his dad can pull his underwear down.

Malcolm is bright pink already when Gil begins spanking his bare bottom, and he’s spanking harder now on top of that. So he’s not surprised when the kid howls out a loud, “Owwwww! Gil!” arching his back in reaction to the first few bare bottom smacks.

He continues anyway, spreading hard, burning swats across Malcolm’s backside. “You knew you shouldn’t be buying drugs when you did it. That’s why you hid it,” he scolds. “If you thought it was a good idea, why didn’t you tell us what you wanted to do?” he asks.

“I knew you’d spaaaaank me!” Malcolm admits, his voice teary. Poor kid- they’ve got a long way to go, still.

“Because it was dangerous. And reckless. And irresponsible.” Gil gives him a pair of hard swats to his sit spots between each descriptor, and Malcolm yelps, throwing a hand back.

“No, Guh-Gil, please, it hurts!” he cries.

“You’ve got a lot more spanking to go, kid,” Gil warns him regretfully, “And you just earned yourself extra.”

“Noooooo, please,” Malcolm whines, and Gil ignores him, spanking his thighs. Aware that the spanking has been hard on the kid already and is only going to get worse, he spanks lightly, with stinging swats designed to be sharp, rather than hard. Mal howls, feet drumming desperately on the bed.

“Move your hand, kid,” Gil reminds him. He tries to make Mal take responsibility for his behavior during punishment, including not trying to stop the spanking.

“Gil, please, owwwww,” Mal cries.

Gil feels for the kid. He seems paralyzed by two terrible choices- if he moves his hand, his dad keeps spanking his burning bottom. If he doesn’t, he gets more extras on his legs. Gil decides to help him out.

“Okay, kid, you’ve got a choice,” he says, pausing the ‘extras’. “You move your hand, and we’re done with the extras. Or I help you move it and you get six more. Which sounds better?” Gil gives him the ‘out’ because it’s entirely possible that Mal is too wound up to make the choice- this way, this doesn’t become a huge battle of wills, with the kid’s poor, sore thighs paying the price. If Mal can’t bring himself to stop reaching back, he only gets six more- not however long it takes him to get himself under control. As all over the place as the kid has been lately, self control is going to be hard won right now, if it isn’t beyond him entirely.

The warning works. Malcolm sobs, and moves his hand. Instead of moving it back in front of him, he puts it in the small of his back, and Gil understands and grips his wrist softly, holding it in place. Now, Mal doesn’t have the  option of reaching back again. He’s proud of the kid for ‘asking’ for the help he needs. “Good call, kid,” he praises Mal softly, and Malcolm sighs.

Gil goes back to spanking his bottom, then. After another minute or so of steady swats, he asks, “Do you think your mother approves of you spending the money she gives you on drugs?”

“No- no- was  bad!” Malcolm assures him.

“That was a bad choice,” Gil corrects, punctuating the sentence with a slap. “It doesn’t make  you bad.” Another punctuation spank, and Mal kicks the bed hard.

“Sorry! I’ll tell her!” Mal assures him.

“I think that’s a very nice idea,” Gil tells him. He doesn’t spank to emphasize that one. 

It’s time to move on to the worst phase of the spanking. Gil makes sure he has a good grip on Mal’s hand, and reaches for the belt. Mal feels the movement, and he clearly knows exactly what it means.

“No, uhhhh, Gil, no, please, not the belt!” Mal begs.

“Do you deserve it?” Gil asks simply.

Mal puts his head down and sobs instead of answering.

Gil taps him lightly with the folded leather. “I asked you a question, Mal.” Then, in case the misery of the impending punishment has overcome the memory of the question, he repeats it. “Do you deserve a spanking with the belt for all of the ways you risked your life?”

"Yes, yes, yes, I do! Sorry, Gil! Sorry!" Malcolm assures him. The kid is halfway hysterical. Gil knows he's being hard on the kid- Mal has had whole spankings  including  the spoon that barely left him as red as he already is- but this lesson is too important to skimp on.

Still, if Mal is this worked up, he's not going to learn anything from the spanking. This isn't about fear and pain, it's about making better choices. Gil figures it's time to pause and let the kid calm down.

"Mal, kid, breathe for me," Gil coaxes gently, rubbing his back.

“T-trying!” Mal tells him, annoyance clear in his tone.

“Don’t get smart with me, kid,” Gil warns him mildly. Malcolm whines in overwhelmed frustration. “I think you need a few minutes to calm down,” Gil suggests. “Do you think you can calm down, before we move on to the belt?” he asks gently.

“I said I’m TRYING!” Malcolm yells at him, furious and overwrought.

Gil considers giving him more ‘extras’ for the rudeness and decides it will only make things worse. Still, he can’t let it pass unaddressed, so he warns, “You keep talking to me like that, you’re going right back over my knee before bed for some ‘extras’ to remind you of your manners.”

Malcolm shifts immediately from fury to desolation. “Sorry, Gil, M’sorry, I’ll be good!” he promises, hiccoughing with the strength of his tears.

“Yeah, we’re taking an intermission here, kid. We’re not done yet, but I’m not going to spank you more while you’re this upset,” Gil announces. “We’ll get you calmed down before we finish.”

Guessing that obedience is just about beyond Mal right now, Gil pulls his underwear and sweats back up himself, guiding the kid to kneel on the bed beside him. Mal goes reluctantly, chin glued to his chest as he cries in big, gasping sobs. The spanking hasn’t been anywhere near hard enough to put him in this state- Gil knows it’s more a combination of fear of the serious session with the belt he’s got coming, guilt over his misbehavior, and the stress of the battle of wills over putting his hand back that’s upset Mal so much, rather than the pain in his admittedly sore, red bottom.

Gil takes Mal’s wrist, gently tugging the kid’s hand to rest on Gil’s chest. He places a hand on Mal’s as well, breathing deeply without speaking for a couple of minutes. Mal copies him automatically, and slowly but surely, the kid’s breathing slows and deepens until it’s normal again, albeit occasionally broken by a hiccoughing sob.

Mal still doesn’t want to look at him, and he’s still crying hard. Now that the kid is no longer in danger of hyperventilating, Gil decides the best thing for him is a few minutes to calm himself down. So he stands up, guiding Mal to follow him, and leads the kid to a corner of his bedroom.

“Take a minute to calm down. You’re okay. The belt’s going to hurt, but I won’t do anything that could harm you, kid, you know that. And you know you’ll be forgiven once we’re done,” Gil reminds him gently. He can’t resist mussing the kid’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head before he steps back, leaving Mal in the corner.

Gil sits back down on the bed and contemplates the young man before him. This is why he wanted to start the punishment slow, and he’s glad they’ve already planned to only tackle the drugs this week. Malcolm is still all over the place, emotionally, and he will be until all of his medications are back to normal. The trouble with a teenage boy and a serial killer teaming up to ‘hack his brain chemistry’ is that they’ve been a little too successful. The goal of Mal’s regular medications isn’t to change who he is- it’s to let him be himself without his trauma affecting his day to day life. What’s happened instead has rendered Malcolm all over the place, and less in control of himself than usual.

Gil feels like an absolute bastard, spanking the kid when he’s so emotionally sensitive. But he knows Malcolm- delaying the punishment entirely until the kid was back to normal would’ve been torture. He would’ve spent every day jumping at shadows, convinced Gil was furious and secretly hated him or wasn’t ever going to forgive him. Sometimes, half of the reason he spanks Malcolm is because tangible punishment seems to be what it takes to help the kid put a mistake behind him.

Gil looks Mal over critically. He’s still crying softly, but the sobbing seems to be under control. And his breathing has stayed slow wand regular. The kid is probably about as ready to finish this as he’s going to get.

“Come here, Mal,” Gil requests gently.

Malcolm turns to face him, and the kid’s teary face almost does Gil in. He stands up, holding out his arms, and Malcolm falls gratefully into the hug. “You’re okay, kid,” Gil assures him, wrapping one hand around the back of Mal’s head and the other around his back. “I’ve got you. We’re going to get this finished and put it behind us,” he promises.

“I’m ready,” Mal tells him bravely.

“Good man,” Gil says softly, pressing a kiss to the kid’s sweaty hair.

They return to their previous positions on the bed, Gil sitting with Mal across his lap, the kid stretched out across the bed so he can kick without worrying about hurting himself or anything else.

“Give me your hand, kiddo,” Gil instructs.

“I’ll be good!” Mal assures him with a wine.

“If I’m holding your hand, you don’t have to worry about remembering to be,” Gil tells him. Mal apparently sees the logic in this, because he moves his right hand to his side, where Gil can reach it.

Mindful that the kid has a hard strapping coming, Gil gently grips Mal’s right hand, pinning it to his side so he can rest his forearm across the kid’s back, making it almost impossible for him to do more than wiggle around a little. “Comfortable?” he asks.

“I’m good,” Mal assures him.

“Okay,” Gil says, pushing forward, “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re getting six for each time you risked your life. You tell me- what did you do, that was risking your life?”

“I took cocaine four times,” Mal confesses. “And I went to the park to meet the dealer. And… leaving the park and going to the alley with him should probably count separately,” he admits miserably.

Gil would’ve let him skip that one, but he’s incredibly proud Malcolm brought it up. “You’re right, Mal. That was dangerous all on its own. I’m so proud of you for admitting that. That’s six sets of six,” he warns.

“Yes, sir,” Malcolm says reluctantly.

“Deep breath,” Gil instructs, raising the belt.

The first stroke makes Malcolm tense like he’s been electrocuted, his whole body quaking. Gil isn’t spanking hard- he’d deliberately given Mal a  very serious hand spanking, so he can sting him with light little licks of the belt now and he’ll finish the spanking feeling absolutely blistered, without a welt or a bruise on him.

Indeed, by the second blow, Malcolm’s gotten air back into his lungs, and he howls. He continues through the sixth blow, where Gil pauses.

“That was six,” he says. “One set done. Was using cocaine worth it?”

“No, no, no no no!” Malcolm assures him.

“Good.” Gil raises the belt again. “You absolutely never use street drugs.” He gives Malcolm a lick between each word of that sentence, imprinting it into his memory.

“You do not ever use cocaine.” These get a whack with the belt between each word as well, and Malcolm sobs miserably. “That’s three sets, kid. We’re halfway done,” Gil assures him.

He repeats his earlier words as he lands the last set for using the cocaine. “You absolutely  never use street drugs.” After the sixth lick, he asks, “Is that absolutely, positively clear, Malcolm Charles Whitley?”

“Yes, sir, yes, sir, it’s so clear! I promise!” Mal tells him, kicking desperately and crying hard.

Gil adjusts his grip. He’s got a dozen more strokes to deliver. It’s more than he’s ever given the kid in one session with the belt before, but he thinks it’s more than deserved today.

“Good. Now, why don’t you go to Central Park alone at night? Especially looking for drug dealers?” Gil asks.

“It’s dangerous. The crime rate goes way up at night!” Malcolm assures him.

“Exactly right,” Gil tells him, and he lets the belt fall.

Mal isn’t yelping and kicking anymore. He’s too done in. He’s just lying limp over Gil’s lap, sobbing his heart out. He can barely force himself to finish the six.

“Last set. We’re so close, kid. Can you tell me why you shouldn’t have followed a strange criminal to an alley?” Gil asks him gently.

Mal is crying hard. “Bad,” he manages between sobs. “Was bad.”

Gil doesn’t think the kid is capable of anything more, right now, so he tries to fashion that comment into an answer. “It was a bad choice, Mal,” he reminds him gently. He forces himself to give Mal another lick with the belt. “Because it was dangerous.” Another light smack, though the kid cries like he’s been branded. “You could have been killed.” Another lick, and more hopeless sobbing.

Only three more, Gil reminds himself. He can get them through three more.

“We want you safe,” he reminds the kid, giving him another stroke. Mal is crying so hard now that the lick doesn’t even get a reaction. “We  need  you safe,” he adds, adding another light stripe to the kid’s burning bottom. He can’t see where the individual strokes have landed anymore, he’s just a mass of red soreness.

He finishes it by reminding Malcolm, “Because we love you.” The lick he gives Mal after that one could generously be described as a tap. The belt is barely moving when it lands- it hardly even makes a noise. Mal is crying so hard Gil is pretty sure he doesn’t notice.

Gil throws the belt down, rubbing Malcolm’s back gently. “You did it, kid. We’re all done. You did so well! I’m so proud of you, Mal. You made it through,” he tells the boy. Malcolm is absolutely overwrought and doesn’t respond.

Gil decides he needs to get the kid dressed, so he can cuddle him properly. He looks over Mal’s bottom critically before he pulls the kid’s underwear up. No telltale purple to hint at bruising, thank God, and no raised places that indicate welts. The kid is thoroughly roasted, but he’s okay. In fact, Gil’s pretty sure he’s seen the poor kid this red before- at least once or twice, including the time he’d taken Jessica’s hairbrush to him.

Malcolm’s crying intensifies as Gil pulls his underwear up, the soft fabric apparently just about unbearable on the sore skin, so Gil pulls his son’s pajama pants off instead of replacing them. It’s not like Malcolm is leaving the house any time soon. What’s important now is that he’s comfortable.

Gil shifts Malcolm to his knees, but the kid remains limp in his arms. He thinks about how exhausted the kid was this morning, and decides he can’t really blame him for being out of it- Mal only got a few hours of sleep last night, broken by nightmares, before he got up and ODed on caffeine.Gil would be a wreck too. For now, he twists to lean against the headboard, dragging Mal with him and settling the kid to rest against his chest.

Slowly, Malcolm’s hands go around him, taking big fistfuls of the fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry, dad, I’m sorry!” he sobs, clinging.

“I know, kiddo. You’re forgiven. You did so good, I’m so proud of you. That was a really hard spanking and you did really well,” Gil assures him, petting the kid’s hair and rubbing his back as he tries to soothe him.

“Hurts,” Mal manages miserably.

“I know, kiddo. I know,” Gil tells him. “I’m right here, and you’ll feel better soon, I promise. Do you think you could take a nap, if I stay right here with you? You hardly got any sleep last night, and I bet you’ll feel a lot better when you wake up.” If he can get the kid to sleep, he’ll be able to recharge and hopefully relax, and the worst of the sting will wear off while he naps.

“Can’t,” Malcolm tells him miserably. “Hurts too much.”

“You need to rest, kiddo,” Gil insists, stroking the hair back from Malcolm’s face so he can see teary, red rimmed eyes. “I promise you’ll feel better.”

“I really can’t, Dad,” Mal tells him. “Every time I start to relax, it’s like a new wave of ‘ow!’ hits me.”

That’s…. not great news. Gil sighs. He wants the kid to learn his lesson, but he doesn’t want to torture him. Deciding mercy is probably more important, right now, he shifts Mal off of him so he can stand up.

“NOOOOO! Don’t leave me, please,” Mal begs, his grip on Gil’s shirt tightening. Gil falls back, startled by the force of the kid’s grip.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he assures Malcolm. “I’ll be right back in just a minute. I’m going to go grab some water and something to help you feel better, okay?” Gil asks. The kid has been crying hard for a long time, he’s got to be dehydrated. If Gil can get some water in him and a cold pack on him, maybe Mal can relax.

Malcolm  very reluctantly allows Gil to get up, frowning at him in exhausted reproach. Gil pats him on the head. “I’ll be right back, I promise,” he tells the miserable teen.

Mindful of his promise, Gil tries to move quickly. They have Propel with the sport caps, so he grabs one of those out of the fridge for Malcolm- the electrolytes can only help, and the cap will make it easier to drink without sitting up.

Gil also grabs a couple of gel ice packs from the freezer. He has a velcro belt thing for them, from when a suspect knocked him down on some hard stone steps about a year ago. It holds two ice packs one atop the other, which should be more than a large enough surface area to cover the kid’s poor, sore bottom.

Gil would normally tell Mal that the soreness is part of the punishment, and he’ll feel better soon. But he’s pretty sure that was the worst spanking the kid has ever had, on a day where he was already overwrought and exhausted. Gil figures he’s the boss, and the can make exceptions if he wants to.

He returns to find Mal kneeling in bed, glaring balefully at him. “That was three minutes,” he says reproachfully.

“I’m sorry, kid. But look what I found,” Gil offers, handing him the Propel. Malcolm frowns, but one sip apparently makes him realize how thirsty he is, and he gulps down most of the bottle.

“Now, c’mon, let’s see if we can manage a nap,” Gil says. “You want me to lay with you?” Mal nods shyly, and his dad lays down, letting the kid curl up with his head on Gil’s chest.

“Now,” he says, carefully setting the ice pack on Mal’s sore bottom, “That should help you feel a little better, so you can get some sleep.”

Mal looks up at him, wide eyed. “Dad?” he asks.

“I think that was the worst spanking you’ve ever gotten, Mal. Now, you’ve learned your lesson and you’re forgiven, and even with ice you’re going to be sore for a while. I think it’s more important for you to be able to rest, right now,” Gil explains gently.

“It hurt really bad, Daddy,” Malcolm confesses softly, fidgeting with the buttons on his dad’s henley and deliberately not meeting his eyes.

Gil carefully doesn’t let himself show how surprised he is. Mal has never called him ‘daddy’ before, being mostly too old for the name by the time he’d met Gil. But just like ‘dad’ snuck out the first few times when he was emotional and badly in need of comfort, Gil is thinking ‘daddy’ now is a sign of just how much his little boy needs reassurance and affection, after the few days they've had.

“I know, kid. I’m sorry. I hated spanking your bottom that hard,” Gil assures him. “I did it to keep you safe, though. Not because I’m mad, or Mom or  Mami are mad, or because you’re bad. You just made a big mistake, and we want to make sure it doesn’t happen again. We got so lucky, that you didn’t get hurt this time, Malcolm.” Gil gets a little choked up, pulling the kid closer and holding him tight. “We could’ve lost you.”

Malcolm looks up at him, obviously distressed. “I’m sorry I scared you, dad. I know I said I’m sorry I did it, but I didn’t think about how it would scare you guys. I promise I’ll be more careful, I won’t ever make you worry about me like that again,” he says, looking about ready to start crying again.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay,” Gil tells him. “Part of being a parent is worrying. That’s constant. I’d appreciate it if you tried not to do anything so dangerous again, but you don’t have to feel bad that I love you enough to worry about you, Mal. I signed up for that, being a dad.”

“Do you ever wish you hadn’t?” Mal asks softly.

Gil closes his eyes. He’ll only freak the kid out if he cries, but he’s a little emotional today, himself, and the idea that the kid could ever think he’d regret their family just about breaks him. “Mal, kid, I can honestly say it’s never even occurred to me. It’s not a choice, anymore. Being your dad is part of who I am, I couldn’t take that back even if I wanted to.” He’s not doing a good job of explaining this, and he worries he’s going to upset Mal worse. "But if it was a choice," he adds, struggling for words, "It's one I'd make every day, no matter how reckless you are or how many rules you break, because I love you more than I could ever tell you, kid."

That seems to satisfy Malcolm, who smiles tiredly. "I'm glad you're my dad," he says simply, then relaxes, no longer propping himself up to look at Gil.

Gil strokes the kid's hair. "Me, too, Mal, me too," he says, petting him as the kid drifts off to sleep. He'll stand guard, in case Mal needs protection from his dreams.

While Mal dozes, Gil gets out his phone, texting Jackie.  Need to talk l8r. He can't call her now, but texting is too unwieldy for the conversation they need to have. Still, he feels better just letting her know he needs her support, even if they can't talk now.

Mal ok? Jackie texts back. She always knows what's going on with him, even when he doesn't have time to explain.

Will be. He texts back, not wanting her to worry.

Mal naps for a couple of hours, surprising his dad. He rests peacefully- Gil would like to think that’s because Mal knows he’s there to keep him safe, but he figures it’s just his body’s self preservational instincts belatedly kicking in because the kid’s probably on the verge of an exhaustion fueled breakdown.

By the time Mal wakes up, it’s time for lunch. He stretches before he opens his eyes, looking startled when he bumps Gil’s shoulder. “Hi, dad,” he says sleepily. “Sorry I fell asleep on you.”

“I told you to get some sleep, kid,” Gil reminds him, amused.

Mal rubs his eyes. “Yeah. Right,” he remembers, perking up. “Didn’t mom say you had to give me Jell-O after you spanked me?” he asks winningly.

“It’s chilling. You are  not having Jell-O for lunch, but you can have Jell-O while I fix lunch,” Gil decides.

Malcolm stands up, pleased. He stretches, wincing, and goes to get dressed. Gil stands up as well. “I’ll see you in the kitchen,” he tells the kid, going to go get the Jell-O out and figure out lunch.

He feels like a terrible dad, just feeding the kid sandwiches every day, but that’s probably what they’re doing for lunch. He may need to go grocery shopping. All they’d bought on Saturday had been pizza ingredients, though that does answer the ‘what to do about dinner?’ question.

Gil gets the Jell-O container out, shaking it to verify it’s solidified. He figures he’ll just give the kid the whole tupperware, and if he doesn’t finish it they can just pop the lid on and put it back in the fridge, so he puts it and a spoon on the counter, guessing Mal will choose to stand around and keep him company rather than sit on his sore bottom.

Mal comes into the kitchen a moment later, dressed and looking much more himself than he had this morning. He immediately attacks the Jell-O, only to put it down after the first bite.

“It’s wrong,” he says quietly.

Gil senses that there’s danger behind the softly spoken words- Mal sounds really upset. “Is it not solid yet?”

“It’s solid. It’s wrong,” Mal repeats, looking frustrated.

“Your favorite flavor is lemon, right?” Gil asks, baffled.

“Yes, but this isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” Mal tells him adamantly.

“Did you want me to cut it into cubes?” Gil asks. They sell it that way in cafeterias. He’s never seen Jess do it, but if that’s how Mal wants it, he’s happy to.

“No!” Malcolm insists, slamming the container down. “You made it  wrong.”

“Kid, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Gil tells him gently, worried.

“It’s not how mom does it,” Mal insists stubbornly.

They’re headed for a meltdown, if Gil doesn’t get this under control. “Let’s call her. She can tell me how to do it,” Gil suggests placatingly.

Malcolm occasionally blows up over small things, like this. He’s an emotional kid, but the things that totally throw him for a loop are usually things he  counts on as certainties. Given how strongly comforted he’d been by his mother’s instance he got Jell-O after his spanking, Gil isn’t surprised he’s getting worked up. Of the three of them, Mal is  least sure of his mother’s forgiveness when he makes a mistake. She doesn’t intentionally hold things against him, but when they’re both feeling emotional, she sometimes ‘goes off’ on him, bringing up examples from the past to prove her points. Even though she doesn’t mean it, it tends to shake the kid’s faith in forgiveness.

So this tangible  proof his mom forgives him and still loves him is important to Mal, today. Especially since Gil himself brought up the fact that it was her money Mal spent on drugs. The still unaddressed looming danger of her spanking him non-withstanding, Mal absolutely needs an anchor, to feel certain he’s truly forgiven for the ill-advised choice to buy and take cocaine.

Gil reminds himself of that and doesn’t react to Malcolm’s attitude, only dials Jessica’s number, using his cell so he can put her on speaker phone.

“Gil? Is Malcolm alright? Please tell me everything’s okay,” Jess says as soon as she picks up. He hears her call, “I’ll be right back,” to someone, stepping somewhere with less background noise.

“Gil made the Jell-O wrong!” Mal announces sulkily. “He ruined it.”

“Malcolm Charles, mind your attitude,” Jess scolds. “I’m sorry, Gil, I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

Gil is quick to assure her, “He’s fine. He’s just had the worst spanking of his life, and a nap because he got no sleep last night. So it’s been a rough morning. And Mom promised him Jell-O, and he was looking forward to it, and I somehow made it differently.”

He’s trying to get across that he’d rather focus on fixing the Jell-O situation, not the attitude, and luckily Jess picks it up. “Well, I don’t know how you could’ve messed it up. I just follow the instructions. I use bottled water,” she says consideringly.

“I used tap. Could that be it?” Gil asks, amazed. How can the kid possibly taste the difference?

“Well, tap wouldn’t have bubbles,” Jess muses.

“You use sparkling water?” Gil asks.

“Of course. He likes the bubbles,” she explains.

“I didn’t realize. That’s what’s wrong,” Gil tells her. “I think I have Topo Chico- will that work?” he asks.

“I think so. I usually use Perrier.” Jess sounds unsure.

“What do you think, Mal, should we give it a shot?” Gil asks.

“Just fix it!” he kid pleads, upset.

“Okay, Mal, okay,” Gil assures him. “Why don’t you talk to Mom while I fix the Jell-O?” he offers, passing Mal the phone.

“Hello, dear,” Jess says, and Mal takes it off speaker. Gil hears a lot of ‘uh huh’s and ‘I promise’ on the kid’s end of the chat. He hopes Jess isn’t being too hard on him about his attitude- poor Mal is having a really rotten day.

Meanwhile, Gil tries the Jell-O again, grateful that, at some point, Jackie bought a ton of packets of the stuff. It’s one of the kid’s comfort foods, though usually one he eats when he’s home. Jackie is more likely to make him lemon flan, or let him help her make a crumble, which was the first thing he’d ever asked to learn to cook. Apparently, the Whitleys had a housekeeper who made them at one point. Gil tends to feed the kid bodega junk as treats when left to his own devices- licorice and gummy bears in little plastic packages.

Gil gets the second batch of Jell-O in the fridge and ready to chill, returning his attention to the kid, who is quietly chatting with his mom. “Really, really hard!” Malcolm assures her. “Yes. Mhmm. I do. A lot better, I promise. Mo-om!” he answers her questions one after another.

Mal glances up, seeing Gil watching him and smiles. Then he looks serious. “Mom?” he asks nervously. “I… Gil pointed out… it was your money, that I spent on drugs. I’m sorry.”

Whatever his mom says makes Mal smile bashfully. “Thanks,” he says. “I think Gil finished the Jell-O,” he reports.

“I did. We’re going to have lunch while we wait for it to harden,” he tells Mal.

“He wants me to eat, now,” Mal tells his mom. “I will, mom. I promise. Okay. We will. Love you. Bye!”

Mal hangs up, giving Gil his phone back. Then he looks down, scuffing his foot against the tile. “I’m sorry I threw a fit about the Jell-O,” he says softly.

“Oh, kid.” Gil hugs him. “You’re okay. I understand. It threw you off, didn’t it?”

“I didn’t mean to be a jerk,” Mal tells him awkwardly. “I just… it wasn’t  right, but I couldn’t think of how to explain what was wrong. And I know it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Jell-O wasn’t a big deal,” Gil corrects softly. “But the Jell-O was your reminder that you’re forgiven and it’s okay now, wasn’t it?” Gil points out. Mal nods. “That matters, kid. Your mom makes you Jell-O because she loves you and wants you to feel better. You associate it with her. It’s okay for you to need that feeling, Mal, I promise.”

Mal snuggles against him gratefully, and Gil strokes his hair. Mal is always surprised when Gil ‘gets’ what’s going on in his head, but it’s honestly not that hard- the kid telegraphs his needs and how he’s feeling pretty loudly, if you know what to look for.

“Sandwiches?” Gil asks after a moment, when Mal’s grip on him has loosened.

“Ugh,  food,” the kid groans, but it’s playful. Gil gets out the bread while Mal raids the fridge, and they make sandwiches and eat them standing in the kitchen, like true bachelors.

“Jackie would be horrified at how uncivilized we’re being,” Gil teases.

“I’m going to tell her you didn’t even make me wash my hands before lunch,” Mal threatens.

“Kid, before you do that, consider: Who’s going to take care of you if she kills me?” Gil teases.

Malcolm considers this solemnly. “I should definitely wait until she’s back,” he decides.

“You little brat!” Gil laughs, glad the kid is feeling enough better to tease him. One thing he’s got to say for all of the shit life has thrown at Mal- he’s definitely learned to bounce back.

Mal smirks at him, unrepentant. “It’s going to be a few hours until your Jell-O is ready,” Gil tells him. He’s finished his sandwich, and he begins putting ingredients back into the fridge. “Do you want this?” he asks, holding up the ‘wrong’ Jell-O for Mal, who shakes his head adamantly. Gil scrapes it into the trash and drops the tupperware into the sink to be washed.

Mal finishes his sandwich and automatically goes to the sink to help with the dishes. He washes, passing them to Gil to dry and put away. They work quickly as Gil asks, “Do you want to go to the library while we wait for it?”

Mal turns to look at him. “Really?” he asks.

“I know I got you a couple of books, but I doubt they’ll keep you busy all week,” Gil tells him. “You’re allowed to leave the house  with me. We can spend an hour or two at the library.”

Mal puts down the butter knife he was washing to hug his dad. “Thank you, thank you!” he says happily.

“Kid, I’m leaving you alone during the day starting tomorrow. You’re restricted, yes, but I don’t want you to spend a month actively miserable,” Gil tells him.

“Thanks, Gil,” Mal says again, softer this time. He gets that his dad wants him to learn from his mistakes, not just suffer, but reminders never hurt.

“Get your shoes,” Gil tells him, turning him toward the hall. He barely stops himself from automatically giving the kid a little swat to get him moving- as sore as Mal obviously still is, that would just be mean.

They have a great trip to the library. Mal finds a murder mystery series he wants to read and picks out several, and wanders over to nonfiction happily. Gil makes himself hold his tongue when the kid comes back with a book called  Malignant Self Love , flipping it over to read the blurb before commenting.

"Show it to Gabrielle before you read it, please," he requests. The kid is desperate for a sense of understanding- giving him no way to comprehend what he's been through isn't going to help. Gil thinks it's time to loosen the reins. Mal is old enough to handle reading a book on narcissism.

Mal clutches the book just a little too tight, betraying how much he'd wanted to read it and how unsure he'd been about Gil's reaction. Most teenagers' parents don't still vet their reading material, Gil knows. And he wouldn't, for other stuff. But Mal's mental health comes first, always.

"I'm ready to check out," the kid tells him, and they go get his books.

They've spent a fun couple of hours at the library, and Mal is content and animated on the drive home. "I was thinking we'd make pizza for dinner," Gil tells him, which thrills the young man.

"Yeah! Great!" Mal says excitedly.

"And your Jell-O should be firm," Gil reminds him.

Mal smiles up at him sunnily. "It's a pretty good day," he says softly.

"I'm glad, kid," Gil tells him, pleased. He's hoping he can avoid Mal dreading Sundays all week, this month. It's going to be hard, since the worst spankings of this whole mess will logically fall on them, but it won't do the kid any good to spend all week getting anxious about the next set of punishments.

When they get home, Mal declares the new batch of Jell-O perfect, grinning happily. Gil ruffles his hair and gets out the stuff for the pizza. Mal helps him roll out the dough and top it, and Gil sticks it in the oven.

"Let's get that corner time done," Gil recommends mildly, setting the timer for the pizza.

Malcolm blinks, startled, like he'd forgotten about it. "Gilllll," he whines, "can't we start it tomorrow?"

"No can do, kid. Seven days, starting today. It's only fifteen minutes," he assures Mal. "And we'd just be waiting on the pizza anyway."

"But…" Malcolm is clearly trying to think of an objection. "You put me in the corner earlier!" he argues bitterly.

"Was that your corner time for buying drugs off some guy in a Starbucks, or was that a chance to calm down so you could handle the rest of your spanking?" Gil asks him gently.

"This sucks," Malcolm huffs instead of answering.

"It was your idea, kid. Now, let's get it done," Gil says, guiding him gently to a corner in the kitchen. He chooses the one beside where the spoon is hung- it seems appropriate, for punishment, and maybe it will remind Mal not to act up.

"Now, when you're in the corner I expect your head up, eyes front, hands and feet still. If there's an emergency you can let me know, but otherwise you stand there silently and think about what you did wrong," Gil instructs gently. He doesn't want there to be any confusion over the punishment.

Malcolm groans, banging his head against the wall. "Head up," Gil reminds him mildly.

Mal makes it two minutes before he begins to fidget. Gil stops making the salad long enough to tell him, "Be still, please."

He barely lasts another minute before whining, "How much longer?"

"The rest of your corner time. Your job is thinking, not clock watching," Gil tells him gently.

Mal kicks the baseboard. "Not fair!" he insists.

"Malcolm, I want you quiet and thinking. You're not going to like it if I have to come over there and help you," Gil warns.

"But Gil, there's an emergency," Malcolm says snottily. Gil holds his breath, worried about where this is going to go. "You're being an asshole!"

"That's enough," Gil says, setting the salad bowl aside. He crosses to Mal. "Step back," he instructs.

"Why?" Mal asks belligerently.

"I warned you you were going to be in trouble if you kept acting up in the corner," Gil reminds him regretfully.

Mal spins to face him, putting his backside out of range in the corner. "No, Gil, please, I'll be good!" he promises.

"Then this will be the only time we have to do this tonight," Gil tells him placidly.

"Please no, I can't take any more, Gil, my butt is killing me!" the kid begs openly.

"Acting up during punishment always gets you extras on your legs. If you keep arguing with me, the spoon's right here," Gil warns, moving as if to reach for it.

Reassured that the spanks aren't going on his still burning bottom, Malcolm reluctantly comes within Gil's reach. He wraps an arm around the kid, bending him at the waist.

Gil spreads a dozen sharp swats across Mal's upper thighs, spanking hard since the kid is in pants. It's evidently hard enough, given the way Mal squirms in his grip miserably. He still gets every one of the twelve spanks his dad had decided on, before Gil raises him back up and pushed him gently back into the corner.

"Be good, and it'll be over soon," he reassures the kid.

Malcolm sniffles miserably and doesn't answer him. Gil ruffles his hair lightly and leaves him to finish the salad.

Gil releases Mal the second fifteen minutes is up, and the kid turns but won't quite meet his eyes. Gil opens his arms for a hug and the kid rushes him. "That was awful," Mal reports.

"Which part?" Gil asks, rubbing his back sympathetically.

"You spanked me and you just put me back there, without hugging me or anything," Malcolm accuses.

"I don't usually stop and hug you mid punishment, Mal. Why was that harder today?" Gil asks, because logically, Mal will earn swats in the corner again, and Gil wants to make sure he doesn't inadvertently upset the kid handing them out.

"Usually you're still spanking me. You're right there. You went away, today. To do something else," Mal tells him sadly.

"Okay, you need my attention on you when you're in the corner?" Gil asks.

"No… just maybe a hug if you spank me while I'm there?" Mal requests softly.

"I can do that, kid. Great job telling me," Gil praises him. Mal's very good at figuring out what's going on in his own head when he's calm. He just needs help getting calm, sometimes.

That’s the first day of corner time done, without a major meltdown. They have pizza and salad for dinner, and Malcolm spends a few minutes writing in his journal for Dr. De Leux before joining Gil in the living room to read a few more chapters of Harry Potter.

Gil sends the kid to bed with a kiss on his head when he starts yawning around ten, assuring him that he’ll wake him up so they can have breakfast together before Gil heads to the station. Next week will be a rough one, but Gil is confident they’ll make it through.


	5. The One Where Mal Is On His Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monday is the first day of Malcolm's grounding where Gil has to be at work all day. There are hiccoughs, but they make it through- with a little help from JT, and Jackie!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JT is back!!!! This is the last time we see him, because Malcolm *doesn't* remember him, later. I've already got part of a possible conversation where adult!Malcolm and JT discuss this, though I don't know if it will ever make it into a fic.
> 
> Jackie is amazing, we get some Jackie/Gil chat in this chapter. I love her.
> 
> Sorry it took so long to get this one out, comparatively- I had a hard time with which parts of the week I wanted to include, and therefore with writing them.

Jackie is relieved to see Gil’s number on her caller ID and picks up her cell phone immediately. “How is he?” she asks without preamble. She knew when Gil texted her earlier that punishing Malcolm had been hard on him.

"Asleep," Gil says. "And okay, I think. He said it was a good day, earlier. Of course that was before his mean dad made him stand in the corner."

Jackie laughs. "I didn't expect that one."

"His idea. We landed on a strapping for cocaine use and buying- I should've split that up, Jacks, that was too much for one day, you should've seen the way he cried- corner time every day this week for buying drugs from a guy who probably  _ wasn't _ dangerous, and a spanking Wednesday for taking drugs on the street." Gil sounds exhausted and overwhelmed, describing it.

"Our poor boy," Jackie says sadly. "And his poor Dad, having to be so hard on him! Why was the strapping so bad?" she asks.

"I was punishing him for breaking the law and risking his life over and over. I spanked hard so I could strap lightly, and he was crying so bad when I finished the hand spanking I hauled him up to get him breathing normally again," Gil confesses guiltily.

"Oh, my boys," Jackie says sadly. "That must have been terrible for both of you." She wishes she were there to hold Gil, to go check on Malcolm and tuck him back in where he'd tossed the covers off. She hates being so far away while they're in crisis.

"He's so  _ fragile,  _ Jacks. One wrong move and I'm going to wreck him," Gil laments, obviously worried.

"He's fragile right now, but that Whitley steel that got them all through the trial is still there, Gil, and we've spent years giving him a firm foundation and good coping mechanisms. He's going to be okay," Jackie assures him.

"God, I wish you guys were here," he confesses.

"I do, too. But if only one of us was going to be with him, I'm so glad it's you. Jessica couldn't have handled punishment on her own. I'm not sure I could've either. And no one in the world makes him feel as safe as you do, Gil. That's going to get him through this. Not any one punishment or whatever Gabrielle does on its own. The knowledge that he's safe because you've got him." She reassured her husband confidently- she  _ knows _ Mal will be okay, because she know Gil won't allow anything to happen to him.

"God, I hope so. Belting him when he was so upset was so hard, Jacks. I gave him a few minutes to calm down before we switched to the belt, but he was so miserable, and he'd hardly slept at all the night before and ODed on caffeine waiting for me to get up… I knew it was going to be hard, punishing him on top of how difficult getting back on track with the meds is going to be. But the poor kid…” Gil laments.

“Does better with rules and structure, even when he hates it, Gil. We all know that. Even  _ Gabrielle _ supports spanking him, based on how much it helps him feel safe and settled,” Jackie reminds her husband gently. “You are doing the right thing,  _ mi amor.” _

Gil takes a deep breath, the sound blowing into the phone. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

“How strict are you being with the grounding?” she asks, knowing that talking through what he’s doing with Malcolm will reassure Gil, even if she doesn’t have anything to add.

“You can’t even  _ see _ strict from where I am. Took him to the library today, so he’d have some new things to read this week. And I bought him books Friday. Took him to the italian market yesterday, and for a run. We didn’t do a big grocery run, so we can do that this week once he’s going stir crazy. And I figure going to the library on Sunday will give him something to look forward to after we discuss whichever thing we’re going over each week and getting the first punishment over with,” Gil explains. “And I’m not doing the ‘go to your room so I can watch TV’ thing. I’m not going to send him away so I can watch the news or a game. I’ll listen to WINS on my way in to work in the morning, so I know what’s going on. Mal is more important. We’re reading Harry Potter. I borrowed your books- we’re taking turns reading out loud. You guys were right- I’m enjoying the story.”

Jackie loves this man so much it’s ridiculous, sometimes. He loves their kid with a depth and dedication she’s rarely seen from any parent, and it inspires her every day. One of the moments that stands out to her as a reason she fell in love with Gil is the time they’d been on the way home from a date when Jess called. With no time to take her home, he’d brought her along. She’d only met Malcolm twice before, so she’d stayed in the car when Gil went to check on him- and accepted Jessica’s invitation to come in for a drink when Gil brought him out for a ‘stake out’. His gentleness with the boy had melted her heart, and she’ll always cherish the mental picture of Gil carrying a sleeping Malcolm back into his home once he’d lulled the kid to sleep.

“Lucky boy,” Jackie says softly, “to have a dad who takes such good care of him.”

“I don’t want him miserable, Jacks. I want him safe,” Gil explains.

“Structure and safety, more than punishment. It’s a good choice, Gil. He’s going to be fine,” Jackie reassures him.

Gil breathes heavily. “I know. The getting there is just hard, you know?” he admits.

“I do. But you’ll get him there safely. And you aren’t alone, really. Jess and I are here when you need us, and Gabrielle is here to help him and help us figure out how to help him ourselves. We’re a team,” Jackie tells him, not because Gil doesn’t know, but because sometimes it’s nice to hear it.

“I’ve got to talk to Jess,” Gil muses. “Mal was really freaked by her threatening to spank him. I do think we need to deal with every person whose trust he broke. He’s used to me spanking him, and a ‘real’ spanking from you instead of a reminder when he’s acting up will be hard, but he’ll be fine. I just- I don’t think he’s afraid his mom would hurt him, he just…”

“He messed up  _ bad, _ if Mom is talking about spanking him,” Jackie realizes. “Not yelling at him because she’s upset, but calmly telling him he’s crossed a line and she’ll put him over her knee for it? Usually she leaves the big stuff to you- for her to personally be so disappointed in him she’s willing to overcome her own reservations about corporal punishment to make sure he learns a lesson is big, and Mal knows it.”

Gil ‘hmms’ thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. It makes a lot of sense. I’ll give Jess a heads up, the next time I talk to her. So she’s prepared- I’d guess he’s going to go to pieces on her,” Gil muses. Gil isn’t only thinking of Mal, Jackie knows, but of how much her son being so upset will upset  _ Jess. _

“Probably. You remember how upset he got the first time I spanked him,” Jackie remembers softly. Big things, she waits for Gil to handle them. Just like Jess calls him. But both women deal with small misbehavior themselves- usually, Jess sends Mal to his room for a while. If he’s acting out and she needs to pull him up short, Jackie will give him a little ‘reminder’ spanking, just enough to get his attention. Malcolm is almost always immediately contrite, when he realizes he’s pushed so far she’s going to spank him, and a little clingy and uncertain afterwards. She’s willing to bet his mom will get a much bigger reaction.

“Poor kid,” Gil sighs.

“He’ll be okay,” Jackie assures him, stifling a yawn. “We’ve got him.”

“Yeah. How’s your dad?” Gil asks, changing the subject.

She tells him about her father’s bridge club, and the short walks they’re taking so he can get exercise. As much as Gil needed reassurance about Malcolm, she needed her husband, and his steady support. She feels much better when they hang up the phone.

***

If Malcolm wakes up during the night, Gil doesn’t hear it, so he has high hopes for a good morning when he wakes up. He fixes waffles, because they’re quick and he wants to start Mal off with a good breakfast, then goes to wake his kid up.

“Ugh, leave me alone,” Mal groans when Gil wakes him.

“C’mon, up. Breakfast and meds, before I have to go to work,” Gil tells him cheerfully. Mal is usually pretty chipper in the morning- Gil figures he’ll bounce back quickly.

“Oh, I forgot, the  _ warden _ has my pills. Better be a good little prisoner, if I want them,” Mal groans.

Gil raises an eyebrow. He wonders where the animosity is coming from, but brushes it off instead of rising to the bait, in the hopes the kid will wake up the rest of the way and feel better.

“Not quite prison. I made waffles,” he tells Mal. The kid has turned away from him, curling a pillow over his head, and Gil pats his flank gently. “Up, now,” he encourages.

Malcolm rolls across the bed to get up, putting it between them. “I’m up, I’m up, you don’t have to threaten me,” he grumbles.

Gil hadn’t been, but he stops before pointing that out. Mal occasionally has nights of bad dreams that don’t rise to the level of waking him, and he’s always grumpy and on edge for a few minutes while he shakes them off. He’ll probably recover while he brushes his teeth and gets dressed.

“Meet me in the kitchen in five,” he tells the kid instead of arguing, and goes to get Mal’s meds out.

It is definitely a teenager who joins him in the kitchen. Mal’s hair is standing up comically, and the kid just grunts at him. Gil wordlessly offers him a cup of coffee, which does get him a reluctant, “Thanks.”

“Eat something so you can take your meds,” Gil suggests gently. He’s got the waffles sitting on the counter on the platter, along with their plates. If Mal is still sore enough that he doesn’t want to sit, they can hover around the kitchen island. If he wants to sit at the table, they will. He’s going to take the kid’s cues, on this one.

“You’re holding my meds hostage unless I eat enough to satisfy you, now?” Mal asks him, fixing him with a hard look.

“Kid, it’s going to be a really long month if you spend the whole time trying to turn me into a bad guy,” Gil tells him, annoyed. “You will  _ feel better _ if you take them with food on your stomach,” he reminds Malcolm pointedly.

“I’m a prisoner, I  _ hurt, _ and I slept like shit. Sorry I’m not cheerful enough for you, Oh Mighty Overlord,” Malcolm says, his tone challenging.

“All right, that’s it,” Gil says, putting down his coffee cup. Malcolm looks at him wide eyed, like he suddenly realizes he may have made a mistake. “Come here, kid,” Gil tells him, gentling his tone. He’ll get the kid sorted, but he doesn’t need to be too harsh.

Mal comes within reach reluctantly, clearly aware he’s reached the end of his luck with his attitude. Gil needs to give him a reminder to behave, but he doesn’t want to take away any more privileges, with the kid stuck at home, already. So a few spanks it is.

“Am I actually being unfair or cruel to you, right now?” he asks Malcolm firmly.

“Noooo,” he kid admits.

“Do I deserve to live with your bad attitude, this month?” Gil asks him.

“No, dad, I’m sorry,” Malcolm whispers, emotions swinging abruptly to teary. “You’re being way nicer than you have to be, it’s my fault, it’s all my fault, I deserve-”

Gil pulls the kid abruptly into a hug. “You deserve parents who love you enough to keep you safe, and help you learn to make good choices. And sometimes the way you learn those things isn’t fun, is it, kid?” Gil asks.

“No, Gil! I’m sorry!” Malcolm assures him.

“I hear you, kid. Quick reminder for the attitude and the cursing at me, and we’re square, okay?” Gil coaxes. Mal buries his face in his dad’s shoulder instead of answering. “You stay right there, you’re fine,” Gil reassures him.

It’s a hot day, so Mal threw on a t-shirt and running shorts when he got up. So the backs of his legs are bare, and Gil decides it’s kinder to spank him there, given how sore his bottom probably still is. He holds the kid close with his left hand, giving him a pair of sharp swats with his right. He gives Mal another swat, then scolds, “No. More. Attitude,” landing a spank between each word.

“I promise, sorry!” Mal tells him desperately, clinging to handfuls of his dad’s shirt. Half a dozen spanks is plenty- the kid is already regretful. Gil stops there.

“Shhh, all done, you’re okay,” Gil assures the kid, rubbing his back. “Deep breaths, Mal, you’re forgiven and everything’s fine,” he promises.

“Sorry, dad!” Mal mumbles against his shoulder. “I don’t mean to be a jerk.”

“Shhh, it was just a rough morning, don’t worry,” Gil tells him, hugging him tighter for a moment and pressing a kiss to messy brown hair.

“Let’s get some food in you. Waffles should make things better,” Gil tells him gently. Mal lets go, but stays close. Gil understands- the kid’s head is a roller coaster, right now. It always makes Mal nervous when he doesn’t feel in control of his own reactions.

So Gil doesn’t comment on the clinginess from the usually independent fifteen year old, just puts a couple of waffles on a plate for him, buttering them. “Regular or blueberry?” he asks, because Mal likes both syrup flavors.

There’s a short pause. “Blueberry,” Mal says quietly. Gil pours syrup across the waffles and puts a fork on the plate, handing it to the kid.

“Go sit at the table and wait for me, I’ll be right there,” he instructs. He thinks that even if Mal doesn’t want to sit down, the ritual of sitting together as a family for breakfast will steady him, after the roller coaster their morning has been so far. Mal hesitates. “Go on. You’ll be fine. You can sit, I promise. It’ll hurt a little, but you’ll be okay,” Gil coaxes, waiting until Mal obeys to fix his own plate.

Gil fixes his plate quickly, returning to the counter to retrieve Mal’s coffee, which the kid has forgotten, and the meds he stuck in one of the little, flat bowls Jackie uses for dips or fruit.

He gives Mal the coffee and keeps the pills by his elbow, for now. “Let’s eat,” he encourages gently. Mal has gone hesitant on him, all of a sudden. But the kid follows his lead and perks up a little as he eats and gets some caffeine in him.

They talk about nothing much over breakfast, and when Mal is mostly done eating, Gil slides him his pills. “Can’t forget these,” he tells the kid.

“No,” Mal agrees, taking them dry. Gil always winces when he does that, but the kid has been taking so much medication for so long it’s second nature at this point.

“I’ll do the dishes so you can get to work,” Mal offers, stuffing his last bite in his mouth and taking his plate to the sink.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Gil tells him, following to place his own plate and coffee mug in the sink. He kisses the kid on top of his head and leaves for work, calling, “Be good, kid, I love you!” from the door.

The last thing he hears is Malcolm responding, “I love you too!” before he leaves.

He listens to the news on his drive in. the President is in the Middle East and Iraq wants them out, plus there may have been some abuse of power in the interrogations of people suspected of being involved in September 11th. Gil is torn- as a cop, he abhors people hurting innocents, and believes strongly in proof of guilt. As a New Yorker, he has a hard time not feeling like the ends justify the means. He’s reminded of what his city’s been through every day as he drives into Manhattan, looking at the skyline. He’s known cops who went to far, when things got personal, and he’s always felt pity, as much as disgust. September 11th was personal for every American.

Still, nothing urgently earth shattering has happened, thankfully, and he’s ready to get to work when he walks into the precinct. He’s running down leads on a home invasion gone wrong that’s gone stale, and he spends a little time chatting up some guys in robbery looking for connections.

That’s what he’s doing when they get the call about a murder, and he grabs his things and heads out. It’s a bad one- double homicide, the couple were attacked as they ate breakfast in their own home. It’s only a few blocks from the Whitley’s, and Gil is glad Mal is staying with him and the girls are both out of town. At least he knows his family is safe.

He finishes looking over the bodies, and decides his next step is to talk to the first officer on the scene. He’d responded to a report of a fight in progress, so even if he doesn’t realize it, he may have seen something critical.

“How’s the kid?” the uniform guarding the perimeter asks when Gil steps back outside, and he frowns for a moment before he recognizes the officer. It’s the guy who called him about Mal.

“I have it on good authority that I’m his least favorite person in the universe, right now, but he’s okay. Thanks to you,” Gil tells him. He’s more grateful than he can express that the guy found Mal, before anything terrible happened- and let his dad take him home instead of arresting him.

“Seemed like a good kid, going through a lot,” Officer Tarmel says.

“He is,” Gil says with a smile. “Of course, now he’s going through it while grounded till the end of time, or at least he seems to think so.”

JT winces supportively. “Feels like it, when you’re, what, 15?”

“Yeah,” Gil says. 

“Hey, listen, I know it’s none of my business. But that kid… he thinks the world of you. It’s hard, when your real dad sucks. Stepdads, or whatever you are, are great. Amazing. But it’s hard to trust that they’ll stick around, when the guy who helped your mom give birth to you didn’t,” the officer tells him, obviously wanting to help Malcolm. Gil is touched. “He slipped and called you ‘dad’ at least once. You know about that?”

“Yeah. He’s my kid, in every way that matters. My wife and I… do what we can. It’s somewhere between god parenting and adoption,” Gil explains. “I’m not going to change my mind about him, and I’ll make sure he knows it. We’ve got plenty of time to make sure- not like he’s going anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Officer Tarmel says, and Gil looks up, frowning, and follows his gaze… to a small figure huddled at the edge of the gathering crowd.

“Shit,” Gil says. “He’s supposed to be at  _ my _ house, in Brooklyn. What’s he doing here?” They’re only a few blocks from the Whitley’s, but Mal shouldn’t be in Manhattan at  _ all. _

“You want me to run him home?” Officer Tarmel asks. Gil considers it. Malcolm is watching the door- he’s not sure if the kid doesn’t realize he’s here, or just that he’s been spotted. Probably better to send Mal home without a scene- the kid is likely to either demand to stay and ‘help’ his dad, grounding be damned, or freak out about being caught, if Gil talks to him.

He’s leaning toward giving the kid a hug and a warning to get home and stay there and sending him with Officer Tarmel when he’s waved over by a very green, frantic looking cop. The first officer on the scene- who can’t be more than 19. He needs to deal with this- the more the green officer freaks out, the less useful his recollections will be.

“Get him home safe for me, and I’ll owe you one. I’ve got to deal with this right now- we’ll talk about it when I get home tonight,” Gil decides. He looks over at Malcolm, who still doesn’t seem to have noticed him. 

“You got it,” the officer tells him, waving another cop over to take his spot and walking toward the kid. Gil steps aside, to ask the first officer on the scene a few questions before the young man has a total meltdown. He can’t  _ believe _ Malcolm snuck out while he was at work- and  _ of course _ the kid managed to wander over to the scene of a grisly double murder. Gil just hopes he was attracted by the sirens, and he doesn’t know something.

***

“Earhart!” a voice calls, and Mal turns, surprised. It’s the cop who found him the day he misjudged the drugs. Shit.

“Hi,” he says awkwardly, burying his hands in his pockets.

“I’m surprised to see you out and about. Blew the coop?” Officer Tarmel asks knowingly.

“What makes you think I’m not supposed to be here?” Malcolm challenges.

“Well, maybe the fact that I picked you up two blocks from here  _ high as a kite _ four days ago, and I’ve  _ met _ you dad?” the cop asks.

Malcolm pales. “What does The Surgeon have to do with any of this?” No, no, no, he prays. He’s always thought his dad had an accomplice, and they’re definitely within The Surgeon’s hunting grounds.

Officer Tarmel looks surprised. “No, kid,” he says, putting a hand on his arm. “Not your sperm donor. Your dad- the detective who picked you up.”

“Oh,” Malcolm breathes a little easier, but not much. It’s still possible that this is the work of an accomplice, given the area. He needs to know what’s going on. He tries to push forward, looking for anybody he knows- and immediately spots Gil, turned away from him, talking to a uniformed officer. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” he says, immediately falling back. Gil will absolutely kill him if he finds him at the scene of a homicide when he’s not allowed to leave the  _ house. _

“Yeah. This is a homicide. Your dad… works homicide,” Officer Tarmel tells him.

Malcolm doesn’t know what to do. He wants Gil, but he doesn’t want his dad to know he’s broken his grounding. He’s freaking out.

“Deep breath,” the cop says, easing him gently away from the crowd and to a quiet alcove created by a neighboring set of stairs, leading to the next house. He’s guiding him with a hand on the back of his neck, and Malcolm desperately wishes the warm pressure were Gil. He considers calling out to his dad, but he’s working, and Malcolm knows he shouldn’t interrupt. He breathes, trying to focus on the natural rhythm of it. It’s so much easier with Gil to guide him. But eventually, he manages to return to somewhat-normal respiration.

“I’m so dead,” Malcolm says softly. “I’ve got to get home. You’re not holding me, are you, Officer?” he asks, worried. If the case  _ is _ related to his dad, him showing up will be very suspicious. Some of the cops thought he had helped, before. Fifteen is old enough to commit murder on your own- there’s plenty of historical examples. This time, they might believe he’s just following in his father’s footsteps.

“I’m not holding you, bro,” the cop assures him. “I’m just gonna get you home safe. And you  _ stay put _ until your dad gets back, you hear me?” Officer Tarmel shakes him slightly, where he’s still holding the back of his neck.

Malcolm nods quickly. “I will, I promise! Only…” he looks at his dad, then at the cop. “Don’t tell him?” he asks quietly. The cop is about to object, so Malcolm offers, a little desperately, “I’ll tell him as soon as he gets home, I promise. I just… I screwed up, bad. I’ve given him a lot of reasons not to trust me lately, let me try and make this one a little better?”

Officer Tarmel looks like he’s going to say something, then pauses, thinking about it. “Okay, kid. I’ll get you home and you can confess. But if I run into your dad again, you can bet I’m going to mention I saw you today, so I suggest you actually tell him.”

Malcolm nods, hard. “I will!” In typical Malcolm fashion, he’s screwed everything up. He’s supposed to be proving to Gil that he can earn his trust back, and here he is messing up basic rules, just because he wanted his iPod. Gil would totally have taken him to get it, Malcolm realizes with the hindsight of someone who is well and truly screwed.

“Let’s get out of here,” Officer Tarmel says, leading him to a squad car. Malcolm follows without complaint. He’s pretty sure he’s pushed his luck as far as it’s going, today. And then some.

Malcolm is fidgety on the drive home. He’s just  _ so mad _ at himself for making such a dumb choice, and getting more and more anxious about how he’s going to tell Gil.

“Deep breaths,” Officer Tarmel reminds him. At least he let Malcolm sit in the front seat, he thinks. Being put in the back of the squad car like a perp would have been more than he could bear. 

Malcolm obediently focuses on his breathing, unable to help his rising anxiety. He tries the 5-4-3-2-1 method in his head, and it helps some. He wishes he had one of Gil’s ubiquitous hard candies. But, slowly, he calms down.

“He won’t actually murder you, you know,” Officer Tarmel tells him conversationally.

“No. I’m definitely completely safe with Gil,” Malcolm agrees. “I just… I keep screwing really simple stuff up. For stupid reasons. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I mean, okay, I do know plenty of things that are wrong with me, but none of them seem  _ relevant _ to the mess I’m making of my life lately.”

“Like?” the cop asks.

“I went home for my iPod. I’m grounded, yeah, but Gil knows what a mess my brain is left to its own devices. I’m allowed to listen to music, and read. So he would’ve taken me to get it, if I’d asked. But I was bored…” Malcolm trails off, embarrassed.

“And you thought you could get away with it?” Officer Tarmel asks knowingly. “Been there, done that, kid. Nothing extraordinary is wrong with you. You’re just a  _ teenager. _ Teenagers screw up. That’s like, the whole point. Screw up now, learn to make better choices for later. Get busted by your dad in the interim.”

“I hate it,” Malcolm tells him.

“Tough, kid. It’s an unavoidable part of life. Good judgement comes from experience. And experience? That comes from bad judgement,” the cop explains.

They’re near Gil’s neighborhood, so Malcolm gives him instructions on how to get him the rest of the way home, and he assumes the conversation is over. So he’s surprised when Officer Tarmel turns to him seriously as he pulls over in front of Gil and Jackie’s house.

“Look, kid. Life is… a lot of screwing up. For everyone, no matter how smart you are. You’ll figure it out. And in the meantime, your parents will keep you safe. I know you didn’t exactly luck out in that department the first time around, but you got a hell of a second shot, right?” he says earnestly.

Malcolm considers this. “Yeah. I’m lucky. Most people don’t get a whole extra set of awesome parents. Especially ones who will put up with what I put Gil and Jackie through.”

Officer Tarmel ruffles his hair. “Get in the house, kid, and be good. This better be the last time I’ve got you in my squad car.”

Malcolm nods, biting his lip. “Thanks.”

Officer Tarmel smiles at him. “No problem. Now, go on! Some of us have work to do.”

Mal lets himself into the house and wanders around uncomfortably, not sure what to do with himself. He’s guilty and jittery, but he knows he can’t call Gil while he’s investigating. He wonders if his dad is going to be at the station all evening- he really, really hopes not.

Desperate for something to do with his energy that  _ won’t _ get him in trouble, Malcolm calls Jackie.

“Hello,  _ mi luz! _ How are you doing today?” she asks him. He can hear the smile in her voice.

“Not my best day,  _ Mami _ . I screwed up,” he admits, already regretting this call. He can’t pretend nothing is wrong, and he doesn’t want to lie. So he’s going to have to tell Jackie.

“What happened,  _ carino?” _ Jackie asks, obviously concerned.

“So, obviously, we all know I’m grounded.” He mentally shoots her a baleful look, continuing, “And I know Gil is being very understanding. But I’m bored out of my mind… and I did not make good choices.”

“Tell me,” she says softly.

“I was reading, but it wasn’t distracting enough. I needed something to  _ do! _ And I can’t go anywhere without Gil right now, and he’s at work, so I was stuck. And I decided if I could listen to music I’d feel better, but the radio kept having ad breaks, so I thought I’d listen to my iPod, only I didn’t think to bring it over,” Malcolm explains.

“I hope you didn’t decide to go get it?” Jackie asks, but he can tell from her voice that she knows he did.

“At the time, I thought that because I wasn’t going anywhere fun it wasn’t that bad. I figured I’d just go get my iPod, come home, and go right back to being bored. But I kind of got distracted,” he explains. 

“How?” Jackie asks. She’s not yelling at him- it’s not her style. Still, he knows she’s disappointed.

“There were a lot of cop cars, police keeping everyone back, you know, typical violent crimes response. I was, um, taking the long way back to the subway to stretch my legs a little, and I saw it and got curious,” Mal explains.

“One of Gil’s?” Jackie asks sympathetically.

“Yes,” Malcolm admits. “Only, I didn’t actually talk to Gil. The cop who found me the day I… you know… came over, and he took me home. I don’t think Gil saw me. But I know that cop knows, and I know I shouldn’t have done it, and I know I have to tell Gil.”

“Only your dad won’t be home for hours, and now you’re guilty and upset and all alone. Oh,  _ pobrecito _ . That is not a good feeling,” Jackie tells him.

Malcolm decides not to share his worry that it might be his father’s accomplice. Gil will find him, if it is, and if not, it will only make all of his parents worry, that his mind went down those lines. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t call Gil and interrupt his work… so I called you,” he admits.

“Good. That was a good choice,  _ mi luz. _ A very good choice, instead of getting yourself into more trouble. I’m proud of you,” Jackie tells him, and Malcolm feels just a little bit better. Making a good choice now doesn’t make up for anything, but maybe it proves he’s not hopeless.

“Now, we need to think of something for you to do. You’ve been naughty enough for one day, hmm? We’ll keep you busy so you don’t get into any more trouble,” Jackie decides.

“I’m sorry,  _ Mami,” _ Malcolm says softy. She’s not really scolding him, but he feels guilty enough that her gentle words make him feel chastened all over again.

“Shh,  _ mi luz, _ it will be okay. It was a mistake, not the end of the world. Your dad, your mom and I will talk tonight about ways to keep you busy, but for now, do you want to help me with a chore I have been meaning to get to, in the kitchen?” she asks.

“I’ll help!” Mal tells her eagerly. He doesn’t care if it’s boring cleaning, he needs something to  _ do, _ and it feels like helping Jackie will make up for how bad he’s been, a little. Plus, being in the kitchen always makes him feel a little closer to Jackie- helping her cook, being her taste tester, or just keeping her company has been a novel experience for a boy who grew up in a house where the housekeeper made the meals.

That’s how Gil finds him, hours later, sitting in the floor beside a giant stack of pots and pans, his upper body halfway in a cabinet.

“Dare I even ask?” Gil asks, startling him.

Malcolm bumps his head. “Ow!” he yelps, then carefully extricates himself from the cabinet to face his dad. “Hi,” he says awkwardly.

“Hey, kid. What are you up to?” Gil asks him gently.

_ “Mami _ gave me something productive to do so I wouldn’t get in any more trouble,” Malcolm explains. “I’m cleaning the shelves. And wiping down the pots, since we don’t use them all often.”

“Sounds like a great project. Very helpful,” Gil says. Mal  _ knows _ his dad heard the part about ‘more trouble’, but he doesn’t press. Malcolm almost wishes he would. Admitting he screwed up is hard.

“I um… did not do so well with boredom today,” he admits.

Gil nods. “It’s your first day on your own all day. I was surprised you didn’t call.”

“You were busy with a case,” Malcolm shrugs. He hadn’t wanted to interrupt.

“I was, but how did you know that?” Gil asks him pointedly. “I just got it a few hours ago.”

“I-might’ve-been-at-the-crime-scene,” Malcolm tells him, the words all rushing together.

“Oh?” Gil asks, waiting for an explanation.

“I tried to follow the rules! I was reading, but I was bored and fidgety and miserable, and I decided I needed music. I hate the radio, because the ads won’t let you zone out on the music. And I left my iPod at home,” Malcolm admits.

“So you went home?” Gil asks.

Malcolm winces. “Yeah. I didn’t go anywhere else! Except I kind of walked the long way back to the subway station and saw the cop cars. I got curious. The cop who found me last week was there. He took me home.”

“Kid,” Gil pauses, looking at him. Malcolm feels like an idiot, sitting in the kitchen floor surrounded by pots and pans while his dad frowns down at him, arms crossed.

“I’m sorry. I screwed up. I didn’t even make it half a day following the rules without you checking up on me- I’m supposed to be earning your trust back and I’m just… I’m a screw up!” he admits miserably.

“Hey, no.” Gil crouches in front of him. “You made a mistake today, kid. You’re not a screw up. I’m proud of you for telling me what happened. You realized it was a bad choice, and you did all the right things afterwards. Coming home, calling Jackie, telling me what happened, those were all good choices, kid.”

Malcolm smiles tremulously. “I know you’re gonna spank me and I earned it. I was just worried you’d be really mad,” he admits.

“Kid, do I spank you because I’m mad?” Gil asks.

Malcolm considers this. “No,” he says slowly. “It’s because you want me to learn to do better, next time.”

“Exactly right,” Gil says, offering him a hand up. Mal takes it. “Now, since you’ve destroyed the kitchen- with purpose, I know!- what do you say we order chinese?”

“What about...?” Mal asks awkwardly.

“We can take care of your punishment while we wait,” Gil tells him, putting a reassuring hand on his neck. Mal leans into the touch. “Why don’t you go wait for me in your room, and I’ll order dinner and we’ll get this over with? Sweet and sour chicken?”

Mal nods, swallowing nervously, and steps around the mess in the floor to go to his room, where he quickly tidies up the books he’d scattered around, trying to distract himself from his boredom this morning. He sits nervously on his bed, waiting.

Luckily, Gil doesn’t make him wait long. He stands up nervously when his dad walks in, and Gil rubs the back of his head encouragingly as he goes to sit down on the bed. Malcolm shifts from foot to foot, nervously waiting for instructions. Gil doesn’t have the spoon, or the flip flop Jackie suggested, so Malcolm is  _ really _ worried he’s about to get strapped. He can’t say he doesn’t deserve it. Still, he's really sore from yesterday, already- this is going to  _ suck. _

“C’mere, kid,” Gil says, calling him over. Malcolm frowns, confused. His dad hasn’t taken his belt off- he doesn’t have an implement.

“But-” he starts.

“Now, kid. Let’s not add any extra, okay?” Gil encourages him. “You’ve been doing good, not letting this snowball into a big mess. Let’s keep it up.”

“I’m not trying to get out of it!” Malcolm assures him.

“Then come here,” Gil tells him firmly. Malcolm is still confused, but he goes obediently. Gil pops the button on his jeans and lowers them, pulling Mal gently over his lap. Malcolm goes without protest.

“What’s this spanking for, kid?” Gil asks.

“Broke my grounding and disobeyed you, going to the house. And,” Malcolm winces as another mistake occurs to him, “you didn’t know where I was, none of you did, so if you or Mom or Jackie had called the house looking for me you would’ve been worried.”

“Good, kid. Very good. I can tell you’ve thought about this. Did you take your cell with you?” Gil asks.

Malcolm shakes his head vehemently. “You took it! I wouldn’t try to sneak it back.”

“Not why I was asking, kid, but I’m glad you know not to sneak things when I’m not here to stop you,” Gil tells him. “If you’re out of the house, we need to make sure you’ve got it, grounded or not.”

“I won’t do it again, Gil, I promise! So it won’t matter,” Malcolm assures him.

“Okay, kiddo. Okay. I hear you. I’m spanking you now so you remember to follow the rules of your grounding whether I’m here or not,” Gil tells him, giving him his first spank.

Gil always ‘warms him up’ to start, and it stings, especially a day after such a hard strapping, but Mal is still mostly just focused on how guilty he feels. Everybody’s been so understanding about all of the mistakes he’s made lately, but he doesn’t have an excuse for this one. He was just being  _ bad. _

By the time Gil pulls down his underwear, Mal’s backside is burning and all thoughts of feeling guilty are being driven out of his head by how  _ sore _ he is. Gil spanks hard. An especially hard slap lands low on his right cheek makes him whimper, and he wraps a hand around Gil’s leg to avoid putting his hand back. He doesn’t want to get his legs spanked too. Gil always spanks his thighs if he misbehaves during a spanking. Malcolm  _ hates _ it. He got his legs spanked this morning, even if it was just a few swats, and he  _ does not _ need a repeat.

Gil spanks his bottom until it hurts so much Malcolm can’t stay still. He twists around, trying to escape the punishing smacks. “Ohhh, owww, Gil, please, I’m sorry!” he begs.

“You follow the rules we make, Malcolm. If you’re having a hard time with a rule, talk to me, or your mom, or Jackie. But you don’t just break them,” Gil scolds him as he spanks.

“I will! I promise!” Mal assures him desperately.

“You did good, calling Jackie once you got home. Try asking for help first next time,” Gil instructs.

“Okay! I will, dad, I will!” Malcolm howls.

“Good, kid. That’s good,” Gil tells him, and he’s not spanking him anymore.

Malcolm breathes heavily for a moment, trying to cope with the sting. That wasn’t awful, as far as spankings go. Gil didn’t use the spoon, or his belt. Mal knows he got off lightly. Gil helps him pull his clothes back up, and Malcolm kneels up beside his dad, immediately reaching out for a hug.

Gil hugs him tight, petting his hair. “You did great, kid, you’re forgiven. Good job, kiddo, you’re okay,” Gil assures him, and Malcolm presses close, feeling safer in Gil’s arms than anywhere else in the world. His dad presses a kiss to his head and Malcolm snuggles in, reassured. He’s so relieved to be forgiven.

****

When Officer Tarmel returned to the crime scene, he pulled Gil aside. “Just so you know, your kid asked me not to tell you he was here. Said he wanted to tell you himself,” the uniformed officer told him. “I guess he didn’t realize you’d seen him.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Gil had told the younger man with a smile. “I appreciate your help.”

“Yeah, sure. Any time,” the other cop assured him before going to get back to work.

So Gil had been a little worried, driving home. He was  _ pretty _ sure Mal wouldn’t lie to an officer to avoid being in trouble for breaking his grounding, but the kid’s impulse control isn’t great right now, and he’d been afraid he’d panic.

So finding Mal cleaning out the cabinets and hearing that he’d called Jackie to avoid getting in 'more trouble' had been a relief. He was very proud of the kid, all things considered. Gil knows how easy it is to let anxiety and guilt snowball one mistake into a disaster, and he's very relieved Malcolm didn't go down that route today.

Which makes it incredibly difficult to spank the kid. Especially knowing how sore Mal still is. Gil quickly decides implements are unnecessary, under the circumstances, and the kid cries his way through a light hand spanking and snuggles afterwards, needy. Gil pets him and reassures him until their dinner arrives.

At that point, he realizes that he's unfortunately forgotten about corner time. As he lays out the takeout containers and Malcolm gets out plates, he debates what to do- stick their food in the microwave and make the kid do his time now? Hold it for after dinner? He decides after dinner is better, and it’s best to remind the kid, so he doesn’t feel blindsided.

They’ve both got their plates and are sitting across from each other at the table- Malcolm sitting on his ankle- when Gil says, “With ordering dinner, we didn’t do your corner time yet. We can get it out of the way after we eat.”

“Or since we missed it, we could skip it,” Malcolm suggests hopefully. “The routine is already disrupted.”

“You want to do thirty minutes tomorrow instead?” Gil challenges.

“No,” Malcolm groans.

“Then let’s get tonight’s done once we finish eating, so it’s over and we don’t have to worry about it. Then we can do some reading,” Gil suggests.

Malcolm picks at his dinner, but doesn’t argue again. “You know, putting it off won’t change anything- just means we have less time to read before bed,” Gil points out.

“Harry Potter?” Mal asks hopefully.

“Of course,” Gil tells him with a smile, and the kid goes back to eating normally, apparently reassured.

Mal puts his dishes in the sink and stands awkwardly beside it once he’s finished. Gil is about finished too, so he says, “Why don’t you go ahead and get in the corner, and I’ll start the timer and take care of the dishes?”

Mal nods, going obediently. “You remember what I expect while you’re there?” Gil asks.

“Quiet, still, and in place. Think about why I’m here,” Mal assures him.

They get through the fifteen minutes tonight with only a couple of small reminders to stop fidgeting. Gil hugs Malcolm when he gets out, having realized the kid needs reassurance after this punishment every bit as badly as he needs it after a spanking. Mal goes into his arms gratefully, clinging for a few minutes, and they have a nice evening reading Harry Potter before they go to bed.

All in all, Mal’s first day of being grounded at home by himself hasn’t gone  _ well, _ but it’s given them somewhere to build from. Gil decides he’ll give Mal a half hour or so to make sure the kid is really asleep, then call the moms- they need to come up with a game plan for the rest of the month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will potentially *just* be the phone call with the parentals. They need to scheme. :) All to take better care of their kid, of course!


	6. The One Where Jessica Sings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bonus mini-chapter, as the parents work out what is and isn't working with the grounding and make adjustments. Mom and Mami have a plan, and Gil and Mal are along for the ride!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No spanking in this chapter.
> 
> I don't usually update two days in a row, but this is a mini update, focused on 'the moms' as a Mother's Day treat! Enjoy, and Happy Mother's Day!
> 
> *EDIT*  
> I posted this all excited and full of good feeling for fandom. Then I immediately realized I'd gotten a nasty message because I said something nice to someone else, and I'm currently questioning my choice to pour so much of my creative energy into fandom. I'm writing because I enjoy it, but also because YOU GUYS enjoy it. Please be kind to others, everyone- it's crushing for the people who just want to make you happy when you aren't.

Once he’s sure Mal is asleep and going to stay asleep, Gil fixes himself a drink. A scotch on the rocks settles him, and he takes a moment to unwind. Between the murder at work and the stressed, upset kid at home, he’s stretched thin.

He gives himself a few minutes to just relax, then sits up and calls Jackie, from his cell so he can conference Jessica in. He feels better the moment she answers.

“Gil! How are you holding up?” she asks gently, her voice full of love.

“I’m tired. Tense, worried I’m going to make the wrong call and make things worse. I almost forgot corner time tonight and I thought he was going to fight me when I remembered, but he was good. You’d be proud of him, Jacks, he did corner time without acting up once, and took his spanking like a champ- oh, I had to spank him because-”

“He told me about breaking his grounding,” Jackie reminds him. “When he called. He was out of sorts, and I think he needed you but didn’t want to distract you, plus he was a little afraid you’d be angry, so he called me instead. I gave him a task to focus on, and Jessica and I have been talking, and I think we have a plan for the rest of the month.”

“You do?” Gil asks, stunned. He’d been dreading figuring out a solution for this one, already drained and just about out of ideas.

Gil will never, ever resent Malcolm for how much work he is. The kid is worth it, a dozen times over, and Gil loves him to death. But on top of a full day of work, they’d had a long day with the grounding, today. Between starting the morning with Mal’s attitude, knowing the kid had broken the rules during the day and worrying, punishing him when he got home, and making sure Malcolm had some positive attention and connection this evening, the closest thing Gil’s had to mental and emotional down time today is listening to the news on his way to work.

Usually, the three of them trade off when Mal is in crisis. One adult with him, two taking care of the rest of their lives or resting, or if things are really bad, two with him at a time so one can rest, and everything else gets put on hold. He and Jackie have both taken off of work, when the kid was in a really bad way, and Jess has skipped more lunches and appointments than he could ever count. Gil knows Jackie and Jess are on the other end of the phone if he needs them, but being the only one in the city has him feeling like Mal’s whole support system. It’s not a good feeling, not because he resents the work but because he knows that, if he makes a mistake, there’s no one there to catch it before the kid is affected.

“You are the front lines,  _ mi amor. _ Let those of us away from the action plan strategy, when we can,” Jackie coaxes gently.

“Thank you,” Gil tells her. “You’re amazing, always.”

“I called Jessica after I talked to Malcolm. I think it was the lack of positive structure that got him. I don’t mean the structure you gave him was mean or punitive, but it was ‘negative’ instructions-  _ don’t _ do this, that  _ is not _ allowed. He had a long list of things he couldn’t do, but no good guidance on what to do instead,” Jackie explains.

He’s heard her talk about positive instruction before- tell a kid, ‘Stay with me,’ not ‘Don’t run off,’ because it’s easier to  _ do _ something when you’re told exactly what to do. He hadn’t even thought about it, this time.

Before Gil can feel guilty about the oversight, Jackie speaks again. “Usually, that would be enough for Malcolm. He’d chafe under more, because he wants to decide for himself how he spends his time, and we trust him enough to allow him a good amount of freedom,” she explains. “But he hasn’t been making the best choices lately because the way he’s messed with his medication has affected his impulse control and problem solving skills. Plus, making choices for himself is how he got into so much trouble to begin with, and he knows it. I think he’d rather a little firmer set of boundaries, for a little while. Structure and support, just like you’ve been doing when you’re with him. Only for the time you have to be at work,” she tells him.

“That makes a lot of sense,” Gil tells her gratefully.

“Call Jess, and we’ll tell you what we’ve figured out. She was still working the last time we talked,” Jackie tells him.

He adds Jess to the call. “Gil! So glad to hear from you. Jackie and I have been talking,” Jess says.

“I heard. And you ladies can make anything happen, so tell me the plan!” Gil tells her.

“Well, your lovely wife pointed out that Malcolm would do better with a little bit of structure, and more  _ activity _ to his days. So I’m in charge of Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons- activities  _ outside _ of the house, which a driver will take him to and from,” Jessica explains.

“And I’m in charge of things to do at home Tuesday and Thursday- chores or projects,” Jackie says.

“Won’t he think that’s… half a reward for breaking his grounding, and half extra punishment?” Gil asks.

“Not if we explain why,” Jackie says. “He needs something to do with himself, and Jess and I both feel better knowing we’re doing something to make this easier on him. It’s a balance, hopefully.”

“Rational Mal would get that. Current Mal, who spent the morning insisting I was threatening him and going to withhold his meds and calling me the warden, possibly not so much,” Gil admits.

“Oh, Gil,” Jessica says. “I’m so sorry.” Gil starts to interrupt her, but she continues. “I’m not apologizing for my son, I know you love him and there’s no need. I’m sorry we’ve left you to be the disciplinarian in all of this. You’re  _ also _ the one holding him afterwards, and keeping him safe, and helping when he wakes up with a nightmare. But I suppose when you’re fifteen, grounded, and in more trouble than you’ve ever been in in your life, it’s easy to lose sight of the other things.”

“New plan,” Jackie says abruptly. “He  _ needs _ this, so it’s happening. But we present it differently- we let him  _ earn _ it. You thought you weren’t going to be able to get him signed up for lessons until next week, right?”

“Yes,” Jessica agrees. “The time difference is making things rather slow going, I’m afraid- I’ve found three activities, and places that offer them, but I couldn’t speak to anyone about scheduling today.”

“Then this week, it’s all chores. A task each day for him to complete. A way to ‘be good’ and do something productive, that should only take him an hour or two,” Jackie says.

“He’s mostly done with the cabinets, by the way,” Gil tells her. “Good idea- he was guilty, but completely calm when I got home.”

“I’m glad it gave him something to distract him,” Jackie says.

“So he does good this week, and next week, he’s earned the privilege of going to lessons?” Jess asks. “What if he has… difficulty with the rest of the week?”

“Then Gil spanks him and we forgive him, so we don’t have to hold it against him. And we craft the tasks- he can finish the cabinets tomorrow, and call me when they’re done. I’ll keep him on the phone for a while and introduce the idea of how proud we are when he’s helpful. Wednesday I’ll have him alphabetize one of my bookcases, because he’ll have fun reading all of the backs of the books, and then I can tell him what a big help he is. Then Thursday, we send him via driver to go clean his room at home, maybe? Or something else  _ Jess _ can be proud of him for, that gets him out of the house in a very controlled way,” Jackie muses.

“Since Malcolm was supposed to be with Gil, the staff are on vacation. So he could clean up his own mess at home. Then he can video call me and show me, of course,” Jess says.

“Video call you? His cell does  _ video?” _ Gil asks. He’s only just gotten the hang of text messaging, this year.

“It was the new thing when we upgraded last month. Seemed useful- both phones have to be equipped. He’s called me from school a couple of times,” Jess explains.

“We should ask about that the next time we upgrade, Gil,” Jackie muses. “I’d love to be able to see him, when he’s at school.”

“We have at least six months left on our contract, but it’s probably worth it when it’s time. How expensive are they?” Gil asks, knowing that, with Jessica, it’s better to be careful. A reasonable cell phone for a teenager, in her mind, may well have cost a thousand bucks. “Maybe we just get you one, Jacks, since you’re more comfortable with the things.”

“Let me get them for you?” Jess asks softly, hesitant. “It would benefit all of us. I know you don’t want gifts or payment for what you do for Malcolm, or for me and Ainsley, but Jackie is always calling us a family, and you both insist you help when you’re the one most able to solve a problem, and it’s nothing for me to order them. Hardly worth mentioning. One of the ways  _ I _ can help is occasionally by making all of our lives easier by buying things.”

Gil pauses, really considering what she’s saying. He steps in a lot, with the Whitleys, even when Jess doesn’t specifically ask for help. Not just with Mal- he makes her stop drinking for the evening, helps her to her room after a bad night. Jackie always takes Ainsley to Wednesday soccer practice, because Jessica has a standing guild meeting. And Jess  _ lets _ them help, because she trusts them. Put in those terms, letting her help feels less like charity and more like what she said- like family.

Jackie hasn’t answered either, and Gil knows she’s waiting on him. Jackie’s a smart woman- she’ll see the sense in it. But she won’t wound his pride by insisting. “I’d appreciate that very much, Jess. Thank you,” he says softly.

She’s pleased, he hears it in her voice. “I’ll order them tomorrow. Jackie, send me the address to use for you right now, please.”

Gil hadn’t expected her to be quite that quick. He resists the urge to argue, to insist they wait until they’re up for renewal- the price difference won’t matter to Jess, she wants to do this for them and to do it now. He makes a deliberate choice to trust her, as much as she trusts him when  _ he _ takes charge of their little family.

“I’ll text it to you. Thanks, Jess, I am looking forward to being able to video call the boys,” Jackie tells her happily.

“It actually might be better to pay for them at your local cell phone store, for you to pick up- that way they can transfer your contacts over,” Jess muses. “Who’s your carrier?”

“Nextel,” Gil tells her.

Jess ‘hmmms’, saying, “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Now, where were we?”

“Giving Malcolm a week of chores so he can ‘earn’ having some activities this summer. We’ve come up with something he can do ‘for’ me, and ‘for’ you. And a way to get him out of the house, in a safe way. I’m thinking I send him a recipe and have him make dinner, on Friday,” Jackie suggests. “That’ll be ‘for’ Gil- I’ll send him one of your favorites, that’s easy enough he won’t have any trouble.”

Gil smiles. “So he gets to spend the week doing something that not just makes up with us, but lets him prove we can trust him to make better choices,” he points out, seeing Jackie’s plan. “You’re brilliant, honey.”

“I like it,” Jessica declares.

“Then next week, it’s lessons Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and chores Tuesday and Thursday?” Gil asks.

“Balance- and structure. Jess is going to schedule all of the lessons for early afternoon, and the idea is he’ll have something to work on or do after lunch every day. Split the day up, while you’re gone,” Jackie says.

“Seems like a solid plan to me. What’s on the docket?” Gil asks.

Jess takes over here. “I’m thinking horseback riding lessons- everyone should know how to ride a horse, and I think he’ll find it meditative- on Mondays at the Kensington Stables. I’ve heard nothing but good things about the place. Then Chelsea Pier has a lot of lessons and activities, and they’ve just added rock climbing, which I think he’ll get a kick out of. That can be Wednesday. And this is going to be his favorite- there’s a place called Gotham Archery, that he can learn to shoot with a bow and arrow. Oh, Gil, I know you’ve said you won’t teach him to shoot until he’s 16, but archery is more of a sport, really, and I think he’ll enjoy it.”

Gil laughs. “I trust your judgement. And I think he’ll love all of it. But maybe we should swap the days,” Gil says.

“Why?” Jess asks.

“He would  _ not _ have had fun trying to ride a horse, today,” Gil admits.

“Maybe drop horseback riding, double up on archery?” Jess suggests.

“Or let’s move everything over a day. Rock climbing, then archery, and horseback on Fridays. I’ll just make sure if he’s got more than one spanking coming that they’re timed so he’s not sore Fridays,” Gil suggests.

“Good point. I didn’t even  _ consider-” _ Jess says, obviously annoyed with herself.

“No harm. I think he’s going to love all of your ideas. Did you do any  _ vacationing _ today?” Gil asks her teasingly.

“I was busy. It’s a damn sight harder to plan things here, relying on the hotel for internet and having to time calls for New York. But Cindy had a lovely day shopping. I think we may move on to Nice, spend some time at the beaches,” Jessica says, “But I want to be in the city so I’m sure of reliable internet until this is all planned out.”

“You’re a marvel,” Gil tells her.

“Isn’t she just?” Jackie agrees.

“We make a pretty good team,” Jessica allows.

“That we do,” Gil agrees.

“Then, team, shall we talk to Malcolm in the morning, together?” Jackie asks. “I think it’s a good idea, that he hear the plan from all of us. We can wait to be specific about the activities, incase Jessica has trouble getting him scheduled, but tell him we’re giving him something constructive to do during the day, and earn the chance to do some more exciting things, next week.”

“I do worry he’ll really get upset, if he messes up with the grounding again this week,” Gil says. “He’s definitely having some trouble making the best decisions, and I don’t want him totally melting down over a mistake.”

“If he does have another slip up, we’ll all reassure him when it happens,” Jessica says diplomatically. “I’m confident we can handle it, if there are any hiccoughs.”

“It sounds like we have put together a very solid plan,” Jackie tells them. “Now, I must get some sleep. Gil, you needed to talk to Jessica, did you not?”

Gil had forgotten. “Good call, sweetheart. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Call us, when you get him up for breakfast. We’ll tell him the plan together,” Jackie tells him. “Goodnight,  _ mi amor.” _

Jackie hangs up, and Jessica asks, “What do you need to talk to me about, Gil?”

“Just something I want us all to be aware of, for when you get home. When we had the family meeting, Mal got… upset, when you threatened to spank him. I think the original plan is a good one, and everybody needs to talk to him about, and punish him for, the ways he individually broke our trust,” Gil says. “But we need to be aware of how strongly he’s going to react, when it’s you.”

“I haven’t ever punished him physically. That’s not something my family did, and even once I saw how he flourished under your care, I worried that my temperament wasn’t… suited to it. I wouldn’t consider it now if it weren’t a plan between all of us, where I know I can ask you for guidance, Gil. I don’t want to  _ traumatize _ him. He’s been through enough,” Jessica groans.

“He has, but I don’t think he’ll be traumatized. If I had to guess, he’s not scared you’ll hurt him. He was just suddenly aware of how badly he’d screwed up, for  _ mom _ to be threatening to bust his butt,” Gil explains.

“I’m not reacting how I normally do over little things, or even bigger ones. Because this is so monumental,” Jess realizes.

“He got the worst spanking of his life yesterday. Then I put him in the corner, which was also new as its own punishment, as opposed to just a second to slow down and breathe. But I think the hardest thing for him about all of this has been me grounding him, because that’s not how I  _ do _ things. It’s different, and it’s a sign that this is different, and different is scary,” Gil explains.

“Poor baby boy,” Jess says softly. “Nothing is ever easy for him, is it?”

“Nope,” Gil says with a sigh. “So I do think you need to be prepared to spank him- I suspect he’s been in your pills, and I think I’m going to leave that for you to deal with, along with lying to you about staying with me- and spank him hard. But I also think you need to be prepared for him to totally melt down on you, and you need to know it isn’t your fault, or anything you’ve done to hurt him. It’s just going to be hard.”

“I wish I could do all of the hard parts for him, Gil,” Jessica confesses. “It doesn’t seem fair, that out of all of us, it was Malcolm who didn’t come out whole. It should’ve been Martin, destroyed by what he’s done, but he’s as happy in that cell as he was in his office, I swear. Or if someone had to pay for Martin Whitley’s sins,  _ it should’ve been me,” _ she tells him, voice choking on tears.

“Jess,” Gill says softly, his heart breaking with her. “Jess,” he tries again when she doesn’t respond. “He hurt you just as much. You’ve stayed so strong because the kids need you. You kept going because it kept  _ them _ going. Ainsley’s life is almost completely normal, because you held it together. Malcolm is going to therapy and making bad choices instead of rotting away in an institution somewhere,  _ because you held it together. _ Don’t ever think you got off lightly, or that you’re in any way responsible for that monster.”

“I just want to keep him  _ safe, _ Gil,” Jess laments. “I’m his mother, I’m supposed to keep him safe.”

“The world isn’t safe, Jess. If anybody knows that, it’s me. But we make it as safe as we can for them, because we love them. You do what you can. Some days, you do more than I’d have thought anyone could. I knew that day in the interrogation room that your kids were going to be just fine. Because bad things exist, and you couldn’t change that for them, but I could tell even then that you would raize the planet before you let it destroy your kids,” he tells her, soft and sincere, pleading with her to listen and believe.

“Thank you, Gil.” He hears her trying to pull herself together. “I needed to hear that. You’re always so kind,” she tells him.

“I’m just telling it how I see it,” Gil assures her with a chuckle. “You’ll see one day. Now, I need to let you get to bed, all the way over there in Paris,” Gil tells her gently.

“Gil, would you do one thing for me?” Jess asks hesitantly.

“Anything,” he tells her instantly.

“Would you go check on him? So I know he’s okay? I know he is, I just…” she asks.

“Of course.” Gil brings the phone with him as he walks down the hallway, turning off the hall light so it doesn’t disturb the kid. He nudges Malcolm’s door a little further open, and sees the kid tossing in his sleep.

When Malcolm whimpers, “No,” Gil moves softly to the edge of his bed.

He whispers to Jess, “Good call, Mom. He’s just on the edge of a bad dream. I’m going to try to pull him out of it.” Then, he focuses fully on his kid. “Hey, Mal, buddy, you’re okay. I’m right here and I won’t let anything get you, alright?” he says softly. Sometimes, if he catches a bad dream early enough, he can disarm it without waking the kid, and Mal usually sleeps the rest of the night afterwards.

Tonight, Malcolm wakes up. “Wha- No- No…” he whispers, then blinks. “Gil?”

“You were dreaming, kid,” Gil tells him.

Mal scrunches his eyes, then opens them and looks at Gil again, confused. “Are you on the phone?” he asks.

“Your mom,” Gil reassures him.

“Can I talk to her?” Mal asks, almost whispering.

“Of course. Here you go,” Gil says, telling her, “Jess, somebody wants to talk to you,” before passing the phone over.

“Hi, Mom,” Mal says softly.

Gil barely hears, “Hi, Sunshine,” on the other end of the line.

“I had a bad dream,” Mal tells her sadly.

“I know, sweetheart. Why don’t you lay back down, and I’ll sing you a song and help you sleep?” Jess offers, surprising Gil.

He’s even more surprised when Malcolm nods, settling back down. “I miss you,” he says quietly.

“I know, sweetheart. I miss you too, so much. You know you can call me any time, right? I’m always here when you need me,” Jess tells the kid gently.

“Even at…” Mal pulls the phone away from his face to see the time, doing the mental math to convert it to her time zone. “Like four am?” he asks guiltily.

“Any time, Sunshine. Now, lay down like a good boy,” Jess instructs. The kid does, and slowly, softly, she begins to sing ‘You Are My Sunshine’.

Malcolm smiles drowsily. He’d never really woken up all the way, not the hard, adrenaline jerk awakening he gets at the end of a nightmare. So by the time Jessica finishes the song with, “Sleep well, my sweet prince,” the kid is well and truly out.

Gil stealthily recaptures his phone, pulling the covers back up over the kid and quietly making his way back to the hall. He waits until he’s in his own room to tell Jess, “He was out like a light before you finished.”

“Good,” Jessica says. Gil hasn’t heard her sing to Malcolm in years- would guess it’s been a while since the kid would allow it. But tonight, it had soothed him perfectly, and Gil is guessing being able to do it soothed Jess, too.

“You think you could get some sleep now, or should I sing to you?” Gil teases gently.

“It might help,” Jess says with a laugh.

Gil smiles, and surprises her with a soft rendition of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’. His singing voice isn’t as gently sweet as hers, but at the end of the song, she sighs softly.

“Thank you, Gil. I think I can sleep now.” She does sound tired, and a little less on edge.

“Good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Gil tells her. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Jess agrees, hanging up.

Secure in the knowledge that everyone is okay, for the night at least, Gil changes for bed himself, setting his alarm so he can get the kid up a little early for breakfast, so they can all talk.

***

Jessica’s body has adjusted to Paris time, so she can’t sleep the day away after Gil’s call. She gets a few good hours, then spends her morning planning her attack for the lessons she wants to sign Malcolm up for. Unfortunately, no one is open, and she is left feeling distant and ineffectual as she waits for Gil to call.

When he does, Jackie is already on the line. “Morning,” she says cheerfully.

“Well, afternoon, here,” Jessica admits, “But the sentiment is the same, I suppose.”

“Good morning, everyone,” Gil adds.

“Morning,” Mal says, obviously sour. “Am I in  _ more _ trouble for yesterday?” he asks desolately.

“You know the rule,” Jessica says, not thinking that this was probably a question best handled by Jackie. “You’ve been punished, you’ve been forgiven. And I understand you made one mistake, but then did very well with the rest of your day, regardless. No, we aren’t calling to punish you, Sunshine. We have a plan.”

She stops there, letting Jackie take over.  _ “You,” _ the teacher says gently, “need something to do with your days, while Gil works. You did very well with a job to focus on yesterday, and you’re a big help to me, getting that done. So we thought you would do better with a goal, each day. Some task or chore to complete.”

Malcolm must grumble, because Gil shushes him. “It’s not all cleaning, kid. Listen to them,” Gil instructs.

“You did make some good choices, yesterday. And I bet you can make some more,” Jessica says gently. “So we thought we’d let you show us you can make those good choices, this week, and then next week, we’ll have a few more exciting activities for you to start doing. Things to get you moving, and out of the house a few times a week.”

“But I’m grounded,” Malcolm points out, surprised.

“We said we were going to work on you earning back our trust. This seems like a good way to start,” Jackie points out. “Just a few lessons, in fun activities. Your mom will send a driver to pick you up and drop you off, so we’ll know where you are the whole time.”

“I’ll let you take your phone with you just in case, too. You can text us if anything happens,” Gil assures him.

“I’ve been researching summer programs in the city- I knew you wouldn’t want to do a camp, with all of the forced socialization, but I’ve found some very promising ideas for private lessons that I think you’ll love,” Jessica tells him happily.

“Really?” Malcolm asks, hesitant.

“Really, Sunshine. Just like Jackie said, the goal isn’t for you to be miserable for a month. It’s for you to have a little more structure while you earn back privileges,” Jessica assures him.

“You’ve got this week to show us you can handle following rules and instructions, and we’ll mix it up from then on- a few days of fun things, and a couple of chores. Sound fair?” Gil asks.

“Yes!” Malcolm tells them, obviously excited. “Thank you! I swear, I’ll be so good!”

“I’m sure you will,” Jackie tells him, a smile in her voice.

“My sweet boy,” Jessica agrees.

“Today, just focus on finishing the cabinets, okay?” Jackie tells him. “Call me when you are done.”

“One of us or both will talk to you every morning, let you know what the plan is for the day,” Jessica assures him. Another benefit she and Jackie had discussed was giving him  _ excuses _ to talk to them, so he doesn’t feel so lonely with Gil at work.

“Thanks Mom.  _ Mami. _ Dad,” Malcolm says sweetly. The title he uses for Jackie doesn’t bother Jessica, today. Gil and Jackie don’t want to be his parents  _ instead _ of her. Malcolm got dealt a rough hand- he needs the extra support to get through it. They aren’t her replacements- they’re her team.

“You’re welcome, Sunshine,” Jessica tells him.

“Of course,  _ mi luz,” _ Jackie agrees.

“We’ve got you, kid,” Gil adds. Jessica can guess that he’s hugging Malcolm. She’ll really have to insist on more video calling, once they have the new phones. She knows it takes a lot of bandwidth, but it seems worthwhile. She misses her son.

“Now, we should let you get back to your breakfast, or Gil will be late for work,” Jackie reminds everyone.

“Of course. Have a good day, Malcolm. Be safe, Gil. And Jackie, I hope your father is well,” Jessica tells her family. A chorus of ‘goodbye’ and ‘have fun’ echo after her as she disconnects the call.

Businesses are open in NYC now. It’s time for Jessica to get to work.


	7. The One Where Mal Does Chores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They try the more structured grounding, and Malcolm gets his second spanking for the drugs. The hairbrush is scary, and Malcolm hates it. The corner also continues to be challenging, but he manages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it weird to be proud of one of your characters? Because I'm proud of Mal for some of his choices this chapter- he did good!
> 
> Also, I felt like I was getting into a rut, so I wrote some other things, in other fandoms! If you're interested in Good Omens or Veronica Mars, check them out! There's spankings available in some of those, too.
> 
> As always, I appreciate you guys reading and your support, and I love hearing from you!

Malcolm works diligently on emptying and wiping down the kitchen cabinets after Gil leaves for the station. He’s not particularly upset about having chores to take care of- it makes the huge stretch of day laid out before him feel more manageable. So he works on his task for another hour, proud of himself when he finishes.

He calls Jackie, because she had wanted to know when he was done.

“Hello,  _ mi luz, _ how are you?” she asks. He smiles, because Jackie’s always happy to hear from him, and that just feels good.

“I’m good! I finished the cabinets,” he tells her proudly.

“What a good helper,” Jackie says, and he’s pretty sure that should seem childish, but he can’t help the way he puffs up, pleased. “I appreciate your hard work very much, Malcolm.”

“Thanks. It was nice to have something to do,” he admits.

“I thought it might be,” she tells him. Of course- Jackie always has a plan up her sleeve to make things better. He’s not surprised this is another one.

“How are you feeling, today?” she asks him next.

“Okay,” he tells her honestly. “I’ve been kind of all over the place, the past few days, but today feels good. Solid positive mood, even if I am grounded.”

“I am very glad to hear that,” Jackie tells him. “You sound happy.”

“Yeah, now I’ve just got to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my day,” Malcolm admits.

“Gil said he got you books?” Jackie asks.

Malcolm smiles. “Yes! At Borders and at the library. I’ll probably spend the afternoon reading,” he admits.

“That sounds like an excellent way to spend your day. I’m proud of you for having a plan that follows the rules of your grounding,” Jackie tells him.

“Thanks,  _ Mami,” _ he says softly. “Ooh, Gil and I made pizza the other day- I can have leftovers for lunch,” he remembers, pleased.

“You boys are having fun, without me!” Jackie teases him.

“Guy’s weekend! Well, month.” Malcolm frowns. “Would’ve just been a month where Gil and I could hang out, if I hadn’t screwed up so bad.”

“To me, it sounds like you are hanging out a lot, in spite of your restrictions. I understand you’ve got him reading Harry Potter?” Jackie asks.

Just like that, Malcolm’s naescent bad mood floats away. “He  _ likes _ it!” he crows proudly. “I knew he would!”

“We both told him,” Jackie agrees. “I’m glad you finally got him to give it a shot!”

“It was his idea, actually,” Malcolm reveals. “I think he was just looking for things to do with me, with me grounded,” he confides. He’d expected to be sent to his room, so Gil could watch TV and have ‘normal’ evenings. Gil has essentially grounded himself right along with Malcolm, and he has to admit he’s grateful.

“Well, that is an excellent one. Your dad loves you a lot,  _ mi luz. _ He wouldn’t want to waste a month of getting you to himself!” Jackie tells him with a laugh.

Malcolm grins. It’s good to feel loved. “Speaking of dads,” he says, “How’s yours?”

Jackie fills him in on what’s going on in Florida, and they chat a little more about his upcoming visit to Dr. De Leux this Thursday. He assures her he’s following the altered medication schedule- with Gil in charge of the pills, he doesn’t have a choice. He’s not sleeping great, and he admits it- and is immediately relieved when she doesn’t suggest he try to nap during the day. His mom suggests it, sometimes, and he hates the nightmares intruding on the daylight hours. Though, he supposes no one ever tries to convince him to sleep when he’s home alone, anyway.

Jackie tells him again how much she appreciates his help with the cabinets, and Malcolm is glowing with pleasure, pleased to have gotten something  _ right, _ when they hang up. He reheats some of he and Gil’s pizza for lunch, deciding there’s no harm in taking it and eating it in the living room.

Gil’s left the remote out- he hasn’t even tried to make it impossible for Malcolm to watch TV. Which means his dad is trusting him to follow the rules. Gil doesn’t forget things like that. So Malcolm deliberately turns away from the TV, sitting on the couch to eat his lunch.

The couch is softer than the kitchen chairs, even with the cushions, but Malcolm is still aware of a lingering soreness. He’d probably be totally recovered from Sunday’s strapping, hard as it was, if he hadn’t gotten himself spanked last night. As it is, he’s just sore enough he can’t completely ignore it. He’s got a few pink spots still, or he did when he checked this morning, all low where he’s most sensitive, and where Gil always spanks him hardest. He squirms around a little on the couch, searching for a comfortable position. Gil always spanks his sit spots so hard. It doesn’t even hurt anymore, really- he’s just  _ sensitive. _ He probably won’t notice it any more by the end of the day. Then tomorrow Gil’s going to spank him again- a paddling with the hairbrush, this time, which he’s dreading.

Malcolm is well aware he deserves every punishment he’s getting, and further aware that he helped decide on them. Still, this sucks, and he wishes this awful month were over. Still, he reminds himself, once it  _ is _ over he’ll be forgiven for all of the things he did that he knew he shouldn’t do, and life will go back to normal- or at least as normal as things ever get, with them.

***

Malcolm spends Wednesday in nervous anticipation. His butt isn’t sore anymore, but he knows that it’s going to be again, once Gil gets home tonight. So he’s hyper aware all day of what’s coming.

He actually slept well last night, and Jackie’s task for him today is a fun one. She wants the bookshelf by the TV organized. Malcolm pulls all of the books off of it, first off, deciding to sort them by genre and alphabetize within the genre. Reading the backs of the books to see what genre they are gets him distracted, and when his stomach grumbles and reminds him it’s lunch time, he’s partway through a John Grissom novel, sitting surrounded by books.

He makes himself stop reading, though he does bookmark it to finish later, and pauses for lunch. He makes a sandwich and gets back to work as he eats, because he’s wasted a lot of time already and he doesn’t want Gil and Jackie to be disappointed he didn’t finish.

Malcolm gets the books sorted by genre, working from the top of the bookcase full of romance, to fantasy, and finally into thrillers. He alphabetizes each section, rearranging the knicknacks Jackie keeps on the shelves to separate them by type.

He’s pleased with the effort, and calls  _ Mami _ to tell her about it when he’s done. She’s proud of him, and effusive in her thanks. It makes him feel a little better, but he can’t shake his nagging dread of what’s going to happen tonight. The anticipation may be the worst part.

Malcolm reads a few more chapters of the John Grissom novel, but it can’t hold his attention. He looks at the clock, doing the math- it’s not too late to call Mom, probably, and it’s been a few days since they talked.

“Hello, Sunshine,” she says. He’s called from Gil’s landline, so he’s surprised, but then he realizes that she knows Gil and Jackie aren’t home, so by process of elimination, it’s got to be him.

“Hi, Mom,” he says softly.

“How are you today, dear?” she asks.

Malcolm  _ tells _ her. “I’m nervous and it’s stupid and I hate it. Gil’s going to spank me later, with the hairbrush. You remember that time he borrowed your brush? It hurts really bad, mom. I know I deserve it, I mean, I nearly got hit by a cop car, I could’ve been arrested, all because I decided to take the drugs while I was wandering around the streets- I could’ve waited until I got home, it would’ve been safer, and I’d still be in trouble but not as much. I know Gil always spanks me hardest when I do something that could get me hurt. I deserve it, I know I do, I’m not complaining or trying to get out of it, but it sucks and I’m dreading it.”

“Poor dear,” his mom tells him. She doesn’t scold him for venting about his punishment, only says, “And you’re all alone with nothing left to do but think about tonight. That doesn’t sound fun at all. I’m glad you called me.”

“Thanks, mom,” he says softly. “I’m glad I called, too.”

She spends the next half hour telling him about her trip- the sights they’ve seen, the interesting people at the Opera, and Malcolm is surprised to genuinely enjoy hearing about it. Then she asks about his week, and he tells her proudly about the projects he’s completed around the house. She praises him as much as Jackie did for his clever organization of the books, and he’s quietly thrilled. He’s making better choices, and his parents  _ see _ that. They’re punishing him for what he did wrong, but they won’t hold the mistakes against him forever.

Malcolm spends half of the afternoon on the phone with his mom, until he looks at the clock and remembers that 4:30 for him is 10:30 for her and that he probably needs to let her go so she can get ready for bed.

“It was so nice talking to you, dear,” she tells him. “Please, call me any time.”

“Thanks, mom. It was nice to talk to you, too,” he says, meaning it. “I love you. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I love you so much, my sweet boy. Have a good day. Gil will take care of you,” his mom tells him, ending the call.

Malcolm reads a little longer, and he’s relieved when Gil calls a few minutes after 5:00.

“Are you on the way home?” he asks.

“I am. I was thinking- we’re running low on food, do you want to go to the grocery store with me?” Gil offers.

“We have… something we have to take care of today, right? I’d rather get it over with,” Malcolm tells him awkwardly. He thinks he’ll vibrate out of his skin if he has to wander around a grocery store with Gil tonight, before he gets spanked.

“Of course, kid. I wasn’t thinking. Tell you what, I’ll run through a drive through on my way home, grab burgers so dinner’s quick. How does that sound?” Gil offers.

Mal loves his dad. Gil hadn’t thought about the wait bothering him, but now that he knows it is, he’s doing everything he can to make it easier. “Chicken sandwich for me,” he requests.

“Grilled, right?” Gil asks. Malcolm agrees. “One other thing- if you’re wanting to get this spanking over with, which is going to be easier on you for corner time, before or after?”

Malcolm considers this. Fifteen minutes to sit around and think about the hairbrush, with nothing to distract him, is going to  _ suck. _ But he knows how clingy he gets after a spanking, and knows it’ll be just about unbearable to go from over Gil’s knee to alone in the corner.

“Before, I guess,” he says reluctantly. “I’m going to spend the whole time I’m waiting for you to get home stressing about the spanking, what’s a few more minutes?” He’s not trying to be disrespectful, but his dread is obvious.

“Kid.” Gil pauses, and Malcolm’s pretty sure he’s about to get scolded for his attitude. He’s not  _ trying _ to be difficult, he’s just  _ stressed. _ “I’m going to suggest something. I want you to really think about whether you can handle it before you give me an answer, okay?” Gil asks.

“Okay,” Malcolm says apprehensively. He’s pretty sure anything Gil’s not sure he’s going to be able to handle is going to be rough.

“Can you stand in the corner while you wait for me? Set a timer on the microwave, and be in charge of keeping yourself in place?” Gil asks. Malcolm is surprised.

“Aren’t you worried I’ll break the rules, or just say I did it?” he asks. He hasn’t exactly been trustworthy lately, as much as the realization stings.

“Do you think you’d be tempted to do that?” Gil asks him.

Malcolm considers it. “No. I want you to be able to trust me. Standing in the corner isn’t as bad as… you not believing I can follow the rules.”

“You did good, telling me when you messed up Monday. That makes me think I can trust you to be honest with me, even if you mess up. And I know this will be hard, kid. So no extra punishment, if you can’t do it. We’ll just finish whatever time you can’t make, after I get home,” Gil tells him.

“I set a timer for fifteen minutes, and when it goes off I’m done?” Mal checks.

“Yeah, kid. And if you can’t make it fifteen minutes on your own, just pause the timer so we know how much time you have left,” Gil tells him.

“I can do that,” Malcolm says slowly.

“Is it going to be easier or harder than doing it once I get home?” Gil asks. “The trade off is that it’s over already when I get there. The hard part is you have to be in charge of yourself.”

Malcolm considers this carefully. “I can do it,” he says. 

“Good, Mal. Do you want me to stay on the phone?” Gil asks.

“So you can tell I’m following the rules?” Malcolm checks.

“No. I trust you, kid. But sometimes you need me close, when you’re in the corner. I can stay on the phone, so you know you’re not alone. You may just have to listen to me order dinner,” Gil tells him, gentle.

Malcolm finds himself wanting to prove he can handle this on his own. Still… “I can call you back if I can’t do it, or when I finish, right?” he asks.

“Absolutely, kid. You can always call me,” Gil assures him.

“Then I can hang up and do it. I can handle this. It’s just corner time,” Mal tells his dad bravely.

“Good boy. Remember, you’re not in trouble if you need to stop. And call me if you need me,” Gil tells him.

They hang up the call, and Malcolm goes to the microwave. He sets it for 15:15, to give himself time to get into place, and walks over to the corner as soon as it starts counting down.

He’s very aware of his fingers, somehow. The pressure to stay still, when nobody would know if he didn’t, is like a phantom itch. He wants to drum his fingers, or tap them together. Some small bit of movement. But Gil is trusting him to be good. Malcolm can do this.

It’s okay if he can’t finish, he reminds himself. He’ll just have to finish the time once Gil gets home.His dad won’t be mad, and he won’t get extras. Malcolm challenges himself to make it one more minute, counting up the seconds slowly. See? He managed that. He can manage one more. He continues on in this fashion, and he’s surprised when the timer beeps.

“I did it !” he cheers, turning around. He immediately goes for the phone he’s left on the table, to call Gil.

“I did it!” he crows again. The microwave is still beeping that the timer’s gone off, and he goes to cancel it.

“I’m so proud of you, kid,” Gil tells him. “Was it hard?”

“So hard,” Malcolm confides. “I knew you wouldn’t know if I fidgeted a little- and usually I move a little bit, occasionally. But I made myself stay completely still. I just kept thinking I could do it for one more minute. And then by the time I had done that minute, I figured I could do another. And then the timer went off!”

“Good job, Mal. You did great,” Gil tells him.

“It was hard but it was important,” Malcolm explains. “I mean, I knew it was okay if I couldn’t do it. You said it was. But I wanted to show you I could. I wanted to do it.”

“And you did,” Gil tells him. He does something, and the phone rings. Malcolm hesitates, confused, then Jackie’s voice is on the line.

“Gil, how are you?” she asks.

“I’m doing great. I’m talking to our kid, and you’ll never guess what he did!” Gil tells her proudly.

“Malcolm!  _ Mi luz, _ I have missed you. Have you had a good afternoon?” Jackie asks.

“I did. I was nervous about tonight- I’m getting spanked with the hairbrush and it’s awful,” Malcolm confides. “So I called mom and we talked for a while. Then Gil decided to stop for food so dinner would be quick and we can get it over with,” he explains.

“And  _ Malcolm,” _ Gil says, like this is something really exciting, “still had corner time, because we’re doing that every night this week. He set a timer, and he did it by himself! He kept himself still and quiet and in the corner the whole time, without me there to remind him.”

“That  _ is _ impressive,” Jackie agrees. Malcolm knows it’s silly, but he preens. He knows the adults are making a big deal of this to remind him he  _ can _ control himself and make good choices, but it still feels really, really good to have gotten it right.

He feels even better when Jackie adds, “And what a good choice, to call your mom when you were stressed and nervous. And I’m sure it made her very happy to talk to you.”

“It was,” Gil adds. “Very smart thinking, kid.”

Malcolm is actually, legitimately smart. He’s on A Honor Roll every semester, at a prestigious boarding school. It’s silly how pleased he is by the compliment.

“I thought about what I’m allowed to do, and talking to you guys is on the list. I’d already talked to Jackie and Gil was at work, so I called mom. I haven’t really talked to her except about punishment and rules this week,” Malcolm admits. “I missed her.”

“Sweet boy,” Jackie tells him, “I bet you made her day.”

“She was happy,” he agrees. “And it was nice.”

“That’s very good,  _ mi luz. _ Thank you for sharing such good news, Gil! It’s always a treat to talk to my boys, especially when they have exciting things to tell me,” Jackie tells them.

“We’ll talk to you soon, Jacks,” Gil says.

“Bye,  _ Mami. _ Love you!” Malcolm tells her happily.

“I love you both very much. Take good care of each other for me,” Jackie says, hanging up.

“That was just about perfect timing,” Gil says. “I’m home. I’m going to hang up and come in,” he tells Malcolm.

Malcolm hugs his dad as soon as he’s in the door. “Hey, kid,” Gil says with a laugh, juggling bags so he doesn’t drop anything and hugging him back one handed.

Malcolm notices what he has- his dad apparently went to McDonalds (it’s the most convenient fast food place, near home) and not only does he have a bag of sandwiches, he’s got a carrier with sundaes. “You got sundaes?” he asks.

“Strawberry for you, chocolate for me,” Gil tells him.

Malcolm considers this. “They aren’t as good if you freeze them, and they melt…” he hints.

“I’m thinking this might be an ‘eat dessert first’ kind of night then, kid, what do you think?” Gil asks.

Malcolm agrees, and they take the food to the kitchen table. As they eat, Malcolm remembers what’s going to happen after dinner. He’s dreading the hairbrush, still. The knowledge that his dad would never really hurt him, that he more than deserves the spanking, and that he’ll be forgiven once it’s over is all well and good, but it doesn’t make the brush burn any less. His mom’s brush is an absolutely vicious paddle- Gil had used it on him once when he’d been really rotten to her, about Dr. Whitley. It’d  _ burned _ more than stung, and, even in the context of spankings that leave him sore and miserable, it had been terrible. He’s pretty sure Jackie’s brush is going to be just as awful.

Dinner is quick. Malcolm doesn’t even try to stall- Gil would see right through him, and he doesn’t want to make his dad disappointed in him. They throw away the trash, and then Gil leads him to his room, sitting on the bed and pulling Malcolm to stand in front of him.

“What are we doing tonight and why?” Gil asks. Malcolm’s hand is trembling just a little, even though he knows he’s safe, because this is going to hurt, and Gil notices and takes Malcolm’s hands in his own before Malcolm can clench his fist against the tremor.

“You’re spanking me. With…” Malcolm makes himself say it. “The hairbrush. Because not only did I  _ take _ the downers, but I did it on the street. It was bad taking them at all, dangerous, because anything could’ve been in them. But it’s worse, because when I misjudged and got high, I was walking around in the middle of the road. And I could’ve gotten arrested. Or worse, run over or mugged by somebody who saw that I was out of it,” he confesses miserably.

“Taking drugs earned you a spanking. Doing it in such a risky way upgraded this from something we could have dealt with with the spoon to something we need the hairbrush for. I want you to go get it for me,” Gil says, releasing his hands and turning him toward the door. Malcolm hesitates, and Gil gives him a little swat- not enough to hurt, just encouraging him toward the door.

Malcolm approaches Jackie’s vanity nervously. Maybe he won’t be able to find it. Maybe she took it with her, and Gil will have to just use the spoon instead. The spoon hurts- he’s sure it would be a fair punishment, if the hairbrush has disappeared.

Unfortunately, the hairbrush is waiting for him right on top of  _ Mami’s _ vanity. Worse, it’s in such an obvious spot that even if he was willing to lie to Gil about being able to find it, there’s no way he’d get away with it. His dad has definitely noticed it sitting there at some point this week. So, handling it carefully like it’s a loaded weapon, Malcolm brings the detested implement back to his dad.

“Here,” he says, thrusting it at Gil to get it away from him as quickly as possible.

“Thank you,” Gil tells him, taking it and carefully placing it to the side. Malcolm hesitates, standing in front of his dad. He’s not sure he can pull his pants down and get into place, knowing what his dad is armed with. He seems to have used up all of his ‘making good choices’ mojo for the day.

Luckily, Gil doesn’t make him. His dad tugs him by a belt loop until Malcolm is standing between his legs, pulling down his pants for him. Then he puts Malcolm across his lap, so that his whole body is supported by the bed. So he can kick. Malcolm wonders if he’ll be able to stay still, or if he’ll buck around so much Gill will wind up pinning his legs. He’d like to think he’ll take his spanking maturely, but based on prior experience, he’s going to wind up sobbing his eyes out and kicking like a little kid. 

“Why am I spanking you tonight, kid?” Gil asks him.

“Took drugs, risked my safety. Could’ve gotten arrested,” Malcolm summarizes.

“Good, Mal,” Gil tells him, landing the first spank.

The warm up stings, right off the bat. It always does. Malcolm makes himself stay still, but Gil is slapping down spank after spank across his vulnerable bottom. His underwear help some, but he knows that’s a privilege he’s going to lose, long before the brush comes out. And spanks on his underwear sting plenty!

Gil is spanking randomly, not so fast he can’t stand it but quick enough that by the time the sting from one spank really hits the next one is landing. Malcolm digs his toes into the bedspread, trying not to struggle. His butt is already stinging badly. Maybe Gil doesn’t realize?

“I’m warmed up!” he assures his dad, losing his battle to stay still and twisting his hips.

Gil immediately puts him back into place. “Malcolm, do you decide when your warm up is over?” he asks, his tone warning.

“But it should be!” Malcolm insists.

“Still not your call, kid. You don’t tell me how to spank you, or the bare skin that gets swatted isn’t your bottom,” Gil reminds him, giving him a hard slap to his bare thigh.

“Nooooo!” Malcolm howls. This is not what he wanted. “Please no extras!”

“I’m afraid so,” Gil tells him regretfully. “You try to stop me from spanking your bottom, you get your thighs spanked.”

This is terrible. His underwear doesn’t cover his thighs, so spanks on the backs of his legs are always bare. And they sting  _ so bad. _ Gil is spanking too hard, Malcolm thinks. He knows better than to tell his dad that, though. Gil spanks and spanks until the tops of his thighs hurt worse than his already sore butt. Malcolm tries not to kick, pointing his toes hard. He could swear the next swats sting even worse.

“Sorry, Gil! Sorry,” he tells his dad. He will  _ absolutely _ take more warm up spanks instead of extras. He is  _ fine _ with that. He just needs his dad to go back to spanking his butt!

“Hmm,” Gil says, giving him another pair of sharp swats. Malcolm groans. “Are we ready to finish the warm up?” he asks.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” Malcolm assures him, trying to get the words out before his dad spanks his legs again.

“Alright then. No more telling me how to spank you, Mal. Understood?” Gil gives him another spank on his right thigh anyway.

“Yes, sir!” Malcolm assures him with alacrity. He gets a final swat on his left thigh for his trouble.

Then, thankfully, Gil goes back to spanking his butt. Somehow, the break has made his cheeks more sensitive, and each swat makes him jump, wincing and groaning.

Finally, when he’s sure he’s been stung by a whole colony of bees and his butt must be bright red, Gil pauses. “Lift up,” Gil tells him.

Malcolm knows what comes next, knows how much spanks on his bare bottom sting and burn, but right now, he’s just glad part one is over. With the warm up out of the way, they’re that much closer to the end of his spanking.

That relief lasts until the first swat lands on his bare bottom. Gil is spanking faster now, overlapping spanks as he spreads them all across Malcolm’s backside, and he howls a wordless objection. “Owwwww!”

“I know, kid,” Gil tells him, and the hand on his back holding him in place rubs softly, once. “Why do we not take drugs?” Gil asks.

“Dangerous. Illegal. Stupid,” Malcolm grunts out miserably.

_ “You’re _ not stupid, kid, but it was not one of your smarter plans,” Gil tells him. “And it’s very dangerous. I’d better never find out about you taking drugs again, Malcolm. If you  _ ever _ buy oxy or anything like it ever again…” Gil trails off. A particularly hard spank across the center of his sit spots makes the point- it will  _ not _ be a fun experience. Malcolm nods earnestly, desperate to show Gil he won’t need this lesson repeated.

“And you  _ never _ wander around the streets when you’re compromised, Malcolm. If you can’t get yourself safely from one place to another, you stay where you are. Call a car, call me, but you don’t wander the streets high- or when you’re older drunk, or even just too tired to think straight. Because that’s how you get hurt,” Gil scolds. He’s still spanking, and Malcolm is trying hard to be stoic, but it’s a losing battle.

“I promise!!!” he assures his dad, kicking his feet desperately against the bed.

Gil slows the spanks down, but they’re harder now. Malcolm cries out with each one. “Oww! Dad! Please, no! No more! Oww! No, please,” he begs, dissolving into noisy tears with the last plea.

His dad gives him two more hard cracks against his sit spots, making him jump with each one. He clings to Gil’s leg desperately, trying not to reach back. The extra spanks to his legs would not be worth the momentary relief.

Then, Gil pauses, and Malcolm knows why. “Oh no, oh no, dad, please no!” he begs. He feels the awful brush rest on his bottom and crying turns to sobbing. “No, Dad! Please!” he begs, desperately throwing a hand back.

Gil pins it, and Malcolm’s whole body goes rigid with horror as he realizes what just happened. Gil has the hairbrush out, and Malcolm just earned extras.

He tries to hold his breath as he waits for the first blow, but he’s sobbing hard and can’t manage it. The first swat lands on his thigh, and Malcolm yelps, as much from surprise as because it hurt. His dad isn’t using the brush on his legs. Malcolm is immediately filled with contrite relief.

“Sorry, Gil, m’sorry, won’t do it again,” he promises between sobs.

“I think I’m going to hold on to your hand till we’re done, so you don’t have to worry about remembering,” Gil assures him. Malcolm is relieved. It’s easier, when he can just lay here and cry.

Gil gives him a few more sharp spanks to the tops of his thighs and Malcolm cries out, miserable. Then his dad pauses, and Malcolm knows he’s picking the brush back up. Begging and resisting didn’t do him any good last time, so he just lays limp over his dad’s knee and waits with dread.

The first crack of the brush burns just as much as he was afraid it would, and he yells. “Ahhhh!” he cries, pulling against Gil’s grip on his hand, but he can’t get loose. There’s nowhere to go, as his dad spanks his butt over and over with the awful hairbrush. It doesn’t just sting, it burns, aching deeper than a spanking with the spoon. It’s a different kind of pain, and Malcolm really, really hates it.

“Hurts, Gil. It hurts!” he cries miserably.  _ Stupid _ , he thinks. Obviously, his dad knows that.

Indeed, he says, “I know, kid.” But his thumb rubs Malcolm’s wrist where he’s holding it restrained, and Malcolm feels comforted anyway. Gil is spanking him so hard, but his dad’s got him.

“I’m spanking you so you remember not to use drugs and risk your life any more, Mal,” Gil tells him, spanks landing every few words. “I know your bottom hurts, but it’s better than ODing or getting hit by a car, or going to jail.”

Malcolm isn’t so sure- he’s pretty sure they aren’t allowed to spank you in jail, at least. Though, maybe they make exceptions when your dad’s a detective. WIth his luck, they probably do.

“Won’t do it again!” He assures his dad. “Sorry!! Sorry, I’ll be good!”

“I hear you, kid. You’re doing great. Twelve more and we’re done, Mal. You can do it,” Gil tells him.

Malcolm’s not so sure, but he’s bolstered by Gil’s praise and his confidence. Somehow, knowing the spanking is almost over robs him of what tiny amount of control he still had, and he spends the last dozen spanks howling his head off and kicking so hard he’s not sure how he doesn’t break something.

Then it’s over, and he sags against his dad’s lap, sobbing and sore. He’s not, objectively, hurting anywhere near as badly as he was after the strapping Sunday. But he’s absolutely wrecked, anyway.The brush is evil and he hates it.

But Gil is there, rubbing his back and telling him how brave he was and how good he did, and Malcolm would purr if he were a cat. His dad pulls his underwear up for him, but shoves his pants off- which is good, Malcolm was wearing jeans, and he’d rather not have those on his butt right now, thank you very much.

Then Gil pulls him up and into his arms, and he does his best to burrow as close to his dad as possible. “Sorry,” he mumbles again.

“Shh, forgiven.” Gil kisses his hair and Malcolm sighs. That’s nice. He knows Gil forgives him- he’s always forgiven after he’s spanked, even if he still has something like bedtime spankings to finish- but it’s nice to hear it anyway. He curls up against his dad, and Gil strokes his hair, and Malcolm gradually feels better.

When he’s done crying, he stands up, going to find pajama pants. “Reading time?” Gil offers.

Ooh, that sounds nice. Cuddling on the couch and reading will be a great way to spend the evening. Except Malcolm remembers he’s got something to do, first. “I have to do my journal for Gabrielle first,” he tells his dad. “After?” he asks hopefully.

“Absolutely, kid. I’ll let you get to it, and meet you in the living room,” Gil offers. He stops and pulls Malcolm into a hug, kissing his hair again before leaving him. Malcolm soaks up the affection gratefully.

His dad also takes the brush with him, which Malcolm is thankful for. He doesn’t need any reminders of  _ that _ spanking lurking around, for sure! He gets out his journal. He’d kind of cheated, on Sunday, and written before Gil spanked him. He’s not thrilled about writing down his emotional responses to punishment, but he lays across his bed on his stomach and gets to work.

He starts with a free association list of things he’s currently feeling or has felt today:

_ Tired. Nervous. Sore. Guilty. Happy. Loved. Successful. Apprehensive. _ He hesitates for a long moment, then adds  _ Scared. _ He really is scared of the brush, even though he knows his dad would never really hurt him. He thinks back to standing in the corner. More feelings:  _ Bored. Proud. Strong. _

Malcolm looks over his list of words, and starts writing. He pours out everything he felt earlier, worrying about the spanking, and how it feels when he finishes one of the ‘projects’ Jackie gives him. He writes about the weird feeling with his fingers, when he had to stand in the corner alone, and how  _ good _ it felt, in ways he can’t quite name, to get it right. He’s still writing when Gil walks in to check on him.

“You okay?” his dad asks.

“Fine. I just… had a lot of feelings to write about,” he explains.

Gil stays far enough back that Malcolm can tell he’s not trying to read his journal, but his dad is obviously curious, and maybe concerned. “I know this was a hard day,” he says awkwardly.

Gil is worried about him, now. “Not like that,” Malcolm tells him. “I’m okay. I had an irrational reaction to the brush- I realize that now- but most of what I’m trying to put into words is about the corner, earlier. There’s something I can’t quite explain, about having something to do, that we weren’t sure I could do. Something hard, and totally up to me to do my best and get right. I could’ve given up. I could’ve probably gotten away with lying to you. But I  _ did _ it. I was trying to put that on the page- or close enough that Gabrielle and I can talk about it tomorrow,” Malcolm explains. 

“That’s good, kid. I’m really proud of you, not just for doing it but for really doing your best to write it down for Gabrielle. You’re doing great,” Gil tells him.

“I probably only need about five more minutes,” Malcolm assures his dad. “Is that okay?”

“Take as long as you need,” Gil tells him. “I’ll be on the couch.”

Gil is, when Malcolm finishes writing a few minutes later and exits his bedroom. He immediately curls up against his dad’s chest. “Well, hello,” Gil tells him, putting the newspaper aside.

“Hi,” Malcolm says, suddenly shy.

Gil just smiles fondly. “You want to read, or should I?” he asks.

Malcolm snuggles closer, turning more onto his side so his butt isn’t holding his weight. Gil correctly interprets the answer and reaches for the book. His dad begins to read, and Malcolm smiles, content.

The rest of the evening is passed just like that, Gil reading and Malcolm mostly just snuggling. He knows the story, so he doesn’t have to pay super close attention, but it’s nice to be with his dad and listen to his voice. Gil loves the story, and Malcolm enjoys listening to him get really into it. It’s a pretty great way to spend an evening.

Thursday is a pretty low key day, all things considered. Jackie sends him to the house to clean his room, which isn’t something Malcolm thinks he’s ever done for himself before. It was weird, but weirdly gratifying, especially when he video called Mom (Gil had let him take his cell phone, since he was leaving the house) and she’d been so pleased. Gil had found a lead on his killer, so he’d been a little later than usual, and Gil had made grilled cheese while Malcolm did corner time, and they’d barely read at all before Malcolm had suggested going to bed, seeing how tired his dad was.

Friday marked one full week he’d been grounded. This is officially the longest Malcolm has ever spent grounded, though he has to admit his dad hasn’t been severe. He got up determined to have a good day, and show Gil he really was learning his lesson. They’d trusted him to take the car service to his appointment with Gabrielle and the house and use his cell phone yesterday- he’s making good progress showing his parents that they can trust him.

“What are you doing?” Malcolm asks as Gil roots around in the refrigerator door. They’re having toast for breakfast, and the butter and jam are already out.

“I need the weather report,” Gil explains, holding up a pair of batteries.

“How are batteries going to get you the weather report?” Malcolm asks, surprised.

Gil grins at him. “I took the batteries out of the remote on Sunday. I’m not going to take it to work with me- I trust you to make good choices. But I thought not having batteries in it would be a good reminder, if you absently reached for it.”

“I didn’t,” Malcolm tells him.

“I see that. You did good, kid,” Gil tells him. “Tells me I can trust you to have your phone with you, the days you’re going to be out of the house next week,” he reveals.

It makes sense- none of his parents would want him out of touch when he’s not home. But Malcolm is pleased by the show of trust. “I won’t call anybody but you guys, or Adolpho,” he promises.

“I know you won’t, kid.” Gil ruffles his hair, sticking a piece of toast in his mouth and going to check the weather report.

Malcolm calls Jackie after Gil leaves. “What’s my project, today?” he asks her. Yesterday was good- he got out of the house, and he made his mom happy. He doesn’t mind these projects so much, and he’s excited for whatever his mom’s got planned next week, but he doesn’t mind still spending a few days being useful.

“I thought we’d surprise Gil,” Jackie tells him. Malcolm grins. Yeah, today’s going to be pretty good.

He digs through cabinets at Jackie’s instruction, reporting what he finds. She walks him through safely dicing jalapenos, and teaches him to make  _ carne asada. _ The meat will need to marinate most of the day. Malcolm’s pleased- Gil’s favorite kind of tacos will be a nice surprise for the man who’s done so much for him this week.

It doesn’t hurt that, since they don’t have tortillas, Jackie gives him permission to go to the store. “Your dad will be fine with it, since I said it was okay. I knew you might need to run to the store, so I told your mom to make sure there was a driver available. He’ll pick you up at 1:00,” Jackie tells him. “Get avocado, too. You remember how to do guacamole. You’ve helped me make it before- remember to wait until a little bit before dinner so it doesn’t go brown.”

Malcolm leaves the steak to marinade during the day, reading for a little while and making himself a sandwich for lunch before going to the store. He’s making street tacos and rice- Jackie’d said home alone wasn’t the time to learn to do refried beans, though she’ll teach him if he wants to know once she’s back- and guacamole. He’s not confident enough to make flan without Jackie, so he grabs a mini cake in the bakery- chocolate, since it’s Gil’s favorite.

Dinner comes together well- Malcolm calls Gil at five, wondering when he’ll be home. His dad assures him he’s on track to leave in the next few minutes, and so he begins the guacamole. 

Except an hour later, his dad still hasn’t walked through the door. Worried, Malcolm calls him again, but gets no answer. He probably just got caught up with a case, Mal tells himself, but given what Gil does for a living, it’s always a little scary when his dad isn’t where he expects him.

Gil calls fifteen minutes later. “Kid, I’m  _ so _ sorry,” he says right off the bat. “I got caught up in an interview I had to do- guy walked in off the street claiming he’d killed his wife, and we couldn’t get a location out of him. No ID. We eventually found her, because she came in to report he has dementia and had gotten out of their apartment. So everybody’s okay, but I couldn’t leave him to call you.”

“It’s fine,” Malcolm says shortly. He knows Gil’s job is important. He was just… worried.

“How about I bring home ice cream for dessert?” Gil offers.

“Don’t worry about it. I took care of dinner,” Malcolm tells him. “That was my project, today. The guacamole is turning brown, though.”

“Oh, kid.” Gil obviously feels awful. Malcolm wants to reassure him, but he’s still too upset to manage it. “I’ll be home soon.” Gil says, and Malcolm agrees and hangs up.

Malcolm goes ahead and cooks the  _ carne asada _ while he waits, throwing the tortillas on the griddle the way Jackie does and putting them in a warmer. Some of them are admittedly a little browner than ideal, but all in all he thinks it’s a respectable showing.

Gil comes in and immediately apologizes again. “I’m sorry, kid, it’s been a long day,” he says, looking over the food. “Wow, you’ve been busy! This looks great.”

“Jackie taught me how to make  _ carne asada _ , and I already knew how to do the rice and guacamole,” Malcolm tells him with a shrug.

“This is one of my favorite meals, kid. Thanks.” Gil hugs him, but Malcolm doesn’t hug back. He’s out of sorts- he doesn’t  _ like _ not knowing where Gil is. His dad was supposed to be home.

“It should all still be okay,” he gestures for Gil to serve himself, doing the same.

Dinner is delicious, even if the conversation is a little stilted. Gil is appreciative, and Malcolm tries to relax. His dad is home. It’s fine. He’s not sulking about him being late, though he’s sure that’s what it looks like- he just… he was worried.

After dinner and cake, which Gil announces was, “A perfect meal,” Gil gets up to do the dishes.

“Since you were the one cooking, we haven’t done corner time yet. Why don’t you get it done while I do the dishes?” Gil suggests.

Malcolm bristles. “What, the  _ hour _ I waited for you wasn’t enough?” he asks. He’s being rude, he knows, but he’s still on edge. Gil was supposed to be  _ home. _

“Kid, I ran late. I’m sorry and it was unfortunate, but that’s how life goes sometimes. It doesn’t change your punishment,” Gil tells him firmly.

Gil’s watching him now, not going to do the dishes, and his stern steadiness makes Malcolm feel a little bit better. “So you just get to waltz in and out whenever you feel like it, and I’ve got to be where I’m supposed to be every second?” he accuses.

“No, kid. But I have a responsibility to my job,” Gil tells him.

Malcolm wants to shout, ‘You have a responsibility to  _ me _ too!’ but he knows he’s being irrational. Gil couldn’t help what happened. He’s glad his dad was there to help that man, and that nothing terrible happened. He’s just unsettled.

“If you hadn’t been late, I’d already be done with corner time and we’d be reading,” he grouses longingly.

“We’ll get there soon,” Gil tells him. “Fifteen minutes isn’t too bad. I’ll get the dishes done while you do it, and we’ll have the rest of the evening to hang out.”

Malcolm frowns. He doesn’t want his dad to go do the dishes, he doesn’t want to stand in the corner- he doesn’t want any of this. He resists the urge to argue, clenching his fists helplessly.

“How’s this,” Gil proposes, “While you’re in the corner, I’ll stay right here with you. No paper, no dishes, nothing, since I missed an hour of hanging out with you earlier. Then we can knock out the dishes together and go read some Harry Potter.”

Gil is essentially offering to put himself in time out too, which isn’t really fair. Except the idea of his dad right here, focused on him, makes going into the corner sound a lot more doable. “Okay,” he agrees softly, going to his spot.

“Good, kid. Good choice,” Gil tells him, coming to squeeze his shoulder. Mal resists the desire to turn and look at him. He hears a chair scrape behind him, and Gil sits down. Malcolm spends the entire fifteen minutes focused on his dad’s breathing, and by the time he’s released he’s relaxed, following his dad’s steady breaths.

Gil gets up and hugs him as he comes out. “You did good.” He kisses the top of Malcolm’s head. “That was harder than usual, wasn’t it?” Gil asks gently.

“I didn’t want you to go away.” Mal wraps his arms tightly around his dad’s waist. “I was worried, earlier,” he confesses.

“Oh, kid,” Gil says softly, carding his fingers through the hair on the back of Malcolm’s neck, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It was just a lost old man who needed my help,” he assures Malcolm.

They do the dishes in companionable silence, then read a few more chapters of Harry Potter before bed. Gil comes in to ‘check on him’ and basically tucks him in, and Malcolm doesn’t complain. He feels better, knowing his dad is close.


	8. The One Where They Talk About Cars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They start the lying punishments, and go to the park. Important conversations about learning to drive and growing up are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!

Saturday they do real grocery shopping, because there’s no food in the house. They also stop by Malcolm’s house, because he somehow forgot to pack socks, and if he’s actually leaving the house next week he wants to have more than the few pairs he keeps at Gil and Jackie’s. Gil tells him what a good job he did cleaning his room, and it makes Malcolm feel good all over again.

Malcolm actually sleeps well, all weekend. Usually being upset, like how worried he was Friday, makes the nightmares worse, but Gil had reassured him before bed, and after Malcolm woke up once panting like he’d run a marathon, his dad had accidentally fallen asleep beside him, petting his hair. Somehow, Gil manages to protect Malcolm from the things in his nightmares, just like he does real threats.

Saturday night he actually doesn’t have any bad dreams, which he thinks is a first since they started adjusting his dosages, trying to get him balanced back out. It may also be because after his appointment Thursday, Gabrielle took blood again, and she let Gil go back to giving him a full dose of his anxiety medicine before bed starting Friday.

His dad handing him his medication like he’s a little kid still grates, but Malcolm is trying to be mature about it. It doesn’t hurt that his dad is totally willing to spank him for having a bad attitude about the arrangement.

Sunday is a blah, muggy day, which matches Malcolm’s mood. He knows they’re going to go over all of the lies he told during his foray into drug use, and Gil is going to be very unhappy with him.

But when he wakes up, his dad just sends him to shower and promises breakfast. They bought muffins yesterday, and Gil fries bacon to go with them. Malcolm enjoys both, and doesn’t complain about eating before Gil gives him his pills.

When they finish eating, though, he gets nervous, gathering up the dishes for something to do, to delay the inevitable. “Thank you for your help,” Gil tells him, taking the dishes. “Why don’t you go get your blue notebook, and I’ll put these aside to worry about later.”

Malcolm trudges to his room, retrieving it reluctantly, and rejoins Gil at the kitchen table.

“Okay, kid,” Gil tells him. “Lies you told during Malcolm’s great drug adventure. Don’t count going and seeing your dad, that’ll be part of the punishment for the stuff that directly involves him.”

Malcolm thinks, and makes a list. He’s pretty sure the day trip he took to the city during finals week goes on the list, even if it was technically to visit his dad. He writes it down, half expecting Jackie to appear and spank him then and there for coming home and not telling her so she could feed him. He also counts the day he’d lied to his mom about going to a party with friends, so he could go buy cocaine. He winces, remembering the spanking for the cocaine use. This week is shaping up to be just as bad. He adds ‘lied to mom about talking to Gil’ and almost groans- that was a  _ really _ bad choice. Then he hesitates- the next one is going to  _ really _ piss his parents off. He makes himself write it down anyway. Lied to pharmacist. There it is, in black and white.

He hesitates. “I think there’s probably a thousand ‘little white lies’ too. Stuff like my mood being off because of the cocaine I took, or me saying I was tired when it was like, a drug hangover,” he tells his dad.

“Make those one entry, and we’ll decide on a punishment for all the little lies you told, to keep up the big ones,” Gil suggests.

Malcolm does, and passes the list to Gil. He sees his dad’s eyes widen when he gets to ‘lied to pharmacist’. That isn’t something he’s exactly mentioned, before.

“What does this one mean?” Gil asks, pointing it out.

“I convinced the guy at my usual pharmacy I’d spilled my anxiety meds in the sink, and got him to refill them early. I was taking more than I was supposed to be,” Malcolm confesses.

“Not only was that dishonest, but he could get in serious trouble for helping you out like that, kid,” Gil tells him sternly.

“I’m sorry,” Malcolm says, feeling terrible.

“Okay, let’s figure out consequences,” Gil says, handing the notebook back.

“Sneaking into the city without telling anyone,” Malcolm reads first. “I practically expect Jackie to appear and spank me for not telling her I was home, just saying it,” he admits.

“That’s a good point. It would make Jackie really sad to know you were in town and didn’t tell her. Your mom, too. We all miss you when you’re at school. There’s plenty of spankable offenses, here- maybe you should write an apology letter to each of them, for that one,” Gil suggests.

Malcolm writes it down. Not fun, sure, but better than another spanking. “I definitely get spanked for lying about going out with friends so I could buy drugs, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think so, kid,” Gil agrees.

“The spoon?” Malcolm checks. This doesn’t feel serious enough to earn him the brush or the belt, comparatively, but he wants to make sure.

Lying about talking to Gil about this month is next. “That one’s tricky,” Gil says, “Because you and your mom need to get square, about how much she trusted you and how much advantage you took. Trust is our fifth ‘unit’, remember?” Gil asks him.

Malcolm nods. He can tell something’s coming he’s not going to like.

“That one’s going to go a little differently,” Gil tells him. “We’re going to focus on the  _ people _ who need to trust you again. So you and I are going to talk, but you also need to get square with Jackie and your mom.”

Malcolm processes this with horror. His mom is going to spank him. But Gil’s still talking. “You’re doing so well, working on earning our trust back. By the time we get there, it’ll just be about finally closing this chapter and moving on,” his dad tells him.

Malcolm does want that. He likes getting it right. He hates it when he remembers his parents have good reasons for punishing him and doubting him, right now. He thinks it’ll be really awful, being spanked by mom. She’s going to be as upset as he is, and Malcolm hates upsetting her. He remembers how she’d cried, seeing him so upset the day Gil had spanked him with her brush. He’ll be really, really brave, so his mom doesn’t have to worry about him.

With that thought in mind, he nods once, hard. “I want to get there. To where we can move on,” he admits.

“We will,” Gil promises him. “Anyway, I think specifically, telling your mom you talked to me when you didn’t, I can spank you for now. But letting her think you were going to be somewhere safe so you could hide out on your own and do this experiment, you need to wait to talk about it with her. So that one’s another spoon level offense, I think.”

Malcolm is relieved, even if the more serious accounting is only delayed. There’s plenty to worry about this week without it. “Lied to the pharmacist, on the other hand,” he says, “That’s a big one, isn’t it?”

“It is, kid. Obtaining medicine under false pretenses, taking advantage of Dr. De Leux writing you refills and the pharmacist, to get him to fill them early, was not your best move, Mal,” Gil tells him.

Malcolm takes a deep breath. “I think, since nobody got hurt, and I probably hate the brush more than the belt, even if it doesn’t hurt as bad, that one should be the hairbrush, shouldn’t it?” he asks.

“That sounds fair to me, kid,” Gil agrees.

“What about the little lies? I was going to say bedtime spankings, but you’re already spanking me three times this week. I don’t want two spankings a night  _ three times _ Gil, please!” Malcolm tells him miserably.

“No, that’s too much. You’re right. My mom had a punishment, when I ‘lied without thinking’ she called it. Casual little lies are just as important as big ones, but they’re mostly about being focused on getting away with things, instead of thinking about whether you should be telling the truth. Mom figured getting your mouth washed out with soap made you think more about what you said- and it always worked on me,” Gil admits.

Malcolm considers this. That sounds awful, but fair. He nods, writing ‘soap’ on the consequences list.

“Then I think we should take care of the soap and the big spanking today. Then we have two more spankings this week, and you can have your letters written by Saturday. Sound fair?” Gil asks.

Malcolm nods. “When, this week?” he asks.

“Tuesday and Thursday would spread them out pretty well,” Gil suggests. Malcolm agrees. It’ll give him a day to recover from the hairbrushing- although the last one hadn’t left him sore for that long. As bad as the brush hurts, the pain doesn’t stick around like the belt does.

Gil stands up, and Malcolm follows him reluctantly. His dad says, “We’ve got bar soap in the bathroom,” and leads Malcolm to the master bath, where he pulls out an unopened bar of Dove soap. Gil lathers it up before telling Malcolm, “Open up,” and he obeys miserably. His dad makes eye contact in the bathroom mirror as he puts the soap in Malcolm’s mouth, telling him, “You need to think about your words and whether you’re telling the truth, before you speak. It’s not worth adding another lie, to keep from getting caught. They catch up with you eventually, kid, and it’s never fun.” Malcolm nods in miserable agreement. His dad wraps an arm around his waist and keeps eye contact the whole time he has the soap in his mouth. It doesn’t feel like he’s being restrained- he feels  _ held _ and safe.

Soap is absolutely disgusting. It’s sharp and unpleasant and the bubbles get  _ everywhere. _ When his dad takes the soap back, Malcolm gags. “You can rinse with water now, then mouthwash is really the best thing,” Gil instructs. “Do you have mouthwash in your bathroom?”

Malcolm isn’t sure. He shrugs, mostly focused on swishing water in his mouth. Gil hands him the mouthwash, and Malcolm swishes that instead. It does help, but there’s a little lingering  _ yuck _ he can’t seem to shake. He reaches for the mouthwash again, but Gil’s put it away.

“That’s enough,” his dad says.

“I can still  _ almost _ taste it,” Malcolm complains.

“You can handle a little bit of a bad taste in your mouth,” Gil assures him. “Come on, kid.”

Malcolm looks longingly at the sink, but follows his dad. It wouldn’t be much of a punishment if he didn’t have to deal with the taste, he supposes. He still hates it. Gil grabs Jackie’s brush as they pass her vanity, which is good- Malcolm won’t have to go get it.

Once they’re back in Malcolm’s bedroom, Gil sits down on the bed. “C’mere, kid,” he says, and Malcolm goes obediently to stand by his side. He’s still wearing sleep pants, so he slides them down himself, taking the hand Gil offers and letting his dad tug him into place.

He reminds himself that the brush isn’t as bad as he feels like it’s going to be. It hurts, but it won’t leave bruises, or even leave him red for days. It’s really not as bad as the belt, he tries to convince himself. He’s only partially successful.

“What’s this spanking for, kid?” Gil asks.

Malcolm tries to give him a good answer, to show he’s taking this seriously. “I lied to the pharmacist to get an extra prescription. That was dishonest, and it could’ve gotten him in trouble for helping me. It could even cost him his job, or his license. And if I have to lie to get something, that means I’m not supposed to have it, and there’s a reason,” Malcolm admits.

“Good job, kid. Very thorough,” Gil tells him and Malcolm smiles, pleased.

The warm feeling from pleasing Gil does  _ not _ cancel at the sore feeling from being spanked. His dad is warming him up fast, today, with really quick, sharp spanks. Malcolm isn’t sure how much they sting individually, but the combined effect is very unpleasant, very quickly.

He twists his hips, trying to fight off the blazing sting. “Owwww! Oh, Dad, ow! It hurts!” he yelps. He’s usually much more stoic than this. The fast spanks are absolutely undoing him.

Despite how awful the fast spanks are, Gil continues them for what feels like forever before he pauses. He taps Malcolm’s hip, and Malcolm reluctantly lifts so his dad can bare him. He hates this part of the spanking. He hates every part of a spanking, but the moment when his underwear come down and he knows how much the next spank is going to sting is a particularly bad moment.

Gil makes him wait, today, asking, “Do you think the pharmacist would ever want to help you out again, if he found out you’d lied to him?”

Malcolm is horribly aware of his bare butt. It’s stinging terribly, already, and the cooler air of the room is sharp against his heated skin. Gil’s hand is raised, ready to fall once he’s answered his dad’s question, and Malcolm can barely make himself speak. He shakes his head. “No,” he admits.

“I think you’re right,” Gil tells him. “But taking advantage of his kindness isn’t the worst part, kid. You were taking too much of your anxiety med and we didn’t know it. What if something had happened? If you’d been somewhere and you’d had a really bad panic attack, and we’d given you an emergency dose? Or if something in one of those street drugs you took reacted badly? When we don’t know what medicines are in your body, we don’t know what you need, if something goes wrong. Gabrielle can’t make good recommendations, if you’re lying to sneak medicine and hiding what you’re taking.”

That whole lecture has been delivered without a single spank, and at first Malcolm was wishing his dad would start spanking and get it over with, because the anticipation is killing him. Now, he wishes his dad would start spanking because he’s feeling so guilty. He can’t believe he made such stupid choices.

“I didn’t think about that. I’m sorry, Dad!” he tells Gil guiltily. “It was really bad,” he confesses.

“It was a big mistake,” Gil agrees. “Scoot forward,” he instructs.

Oh, no. “No, Gil, please,” he argues, digging his toes into the comforter so his dad can’t just move him. “I didn’t do anything! I don’t need extras,” he assures his dad.

“Well, now you do,” Gil points out. He slaps the very top of Malcolm’s left thigh, three times in a row. Then he repeats the procedure on the right. Three on one side, three on the other. “I wasn’t planning on spanking your thighs,” Gil tells Malcolm conversationally. “I just needed your bottom in a better position. But now you get sore legs, and you still have to move where I asked you to. Not such a great idea, is it?” Gil asks.

Malcolm shakes his head frantically. “It’s not! It’s a  _ bad idea,  _ Gil! Shouldn’t have!” Malcolm assures his dad. “Please, please no more,” he begs.

“Just a dozen more,” Gil tells him, stroking his back. “Six on each leg, then we’re done.”

Gil is true to his word, and delivers the spanks just like that. Six hard, fast spanks to his left thigh, then the same immediately on his right. Malcolm howls through the whole thing, kicking his feet frantically.

When it’s over, Gil taps his thigh, below the thoroughly spanked spot, thankfully, to remind him what he’s supposed to do. Malcolm moves forward with a sad sigh. Whenever Gil moves him forward during a spanking, it means either he’s getting his legs smacked or his dad is planning to really let his sit spots have it. A spanking all on his sit spots, with the brush, sounds awful. Just the idea makes Malcolm want to cry, and when the first spank of Gil’s hand on his bare bottom lands across the lowest part of his cheeks, he gives up on being stoic.

His dad is spanking  _ hard _ now, each swat jarring him. And more of them land across the very bottom of his cheeks than anywhere else. Malcolm cries miserably. He hates spankings, but he especially hates it when all of the spanks seem to land in the absolute worst spot. Gil is unerringly picking out the worst possible place for a spank with every swat, and Malcolm kicks his feet desperately, twisting his hips to try to throw off Gil’s aim.

Gil just wraps an arm completely around his waist, instead of just pressing down, and pulls him closer. Held securely against his dad, there’s not much struggling he can do. Malcolm whines and cries miserably, unable to shift out of range of the awful, burning spanks. He tries to wriggle out of Gil’s grip, desperate for even a few seconds of relief, but his dad has a good grip on him, and he can’t seem to move. And no matter how much he struggles, his dad just keeps spanking.

Eventually, Malcolm gives up. His dad is going to keep spanking him forever, and nothing he does is going to save his poor, sore bottom. He lies over his dad’s lap and cries limply, miserable. His bottom hurts so much and the burning soreness is never, ever going to stop. He sobs, clutching handfuls of the bedspread desperately. He can’t reach back, or Gil will spank him even more, and Gil is already going to spank him  _ forever. _

***

Gil is focusing most of the spanking to the kid’s sit spots because, with three spankings already planned this week and horseback riding lessons scheduled Friday, he doesn’t want to risk being too hard on the poor kid, and those sensitive spots always get a reaction quickly. But when they get to bare bottom spanks, Mal absolutely loses it. Gil isn’t spanking particularly hard, but the kid struggles so much he has to get an arm around him and hold him down.

He lightens his spanks, going for just pure sting, and he spanks until Mal moves past whatever frantic energy had possessed him, collapsing over his knee and crying miserably.

Gil loosens his grip, so he can rub the kid’s back as he pauses. “Good, Mal. You’re doing great. Just the brush left,” he tells the kid. Malcolm sobs miserably. Gil considers the kid’s reactions so far and asks, “Do I need to hold onto your hand so you don’t reach back? I don’t want to give you any more extras if we can avoid it, kid.”

Mal wraps his hand around Gil’s calf. “I can do it!” he assures his dad. Then, he surprises Gil by asking, “How many?”

Considering how frantic the kid has been, Gil figures giving him a number to focus on can’t hurt. He considers how upset Malcolm is, trying to pick a number that’s high enough to show it’s a serious spanking, but not more than Malcolm’s going to be able to take. “Thirty,” he decides.

Malcolm cries in response, clinging tighter to his leg. Again, Gil rubs his back. “Deep breath, kid. You can do this,” Gil assures him, lifting the brush.

Jackie’s brush isn’t particularly heavy, but it does have a wide, square wooden back. Gil isn’t spanking  _ hard _ with it, but he’s sure it does a good job of spreading the sting out across Mal’s bottom. It doesn’t take too many swats to cover the kid’s whole backside, and Gil gives him two circuits over his whole bottom, spanking every spot rhythmically- right, left, then lower and repeat. Two circuits takes the first dozen spanks, and turns Malcolm’s poor bottom bright red.

He gives Mal the next dozen randomly, spreading them out to even out the redness. He’s spanking lightly now, snapping his wrist to give the spanks some sting, but not wanting to be too severe.

Malcolm cries out miserably. “Owwww! Ohhhh, Gil, sorry, ohhhh, sorry!” He’s still clinging to his dad’s leg, hard, and Gil rubs his back as he pauses.

“You’re doing so great, kid. Almost done. Last six, and they’re going to be really sore, but then it’ll be over, right?” Gil encourages him. Malcolm sobs.

Gil gives the poor kid the last six right on his sit spots. Left, right, center, then repeat. Malcolm  _ howls _ , his feet beating out a staccato tattoo on the bed. Then it’s over, and Gil tosses the brush aside to focus on comforting his distraught kid.

He’s taking the brush off of the table, this month. The kid’s reaction to it is way out of proportion. Gil thinks it’s because the first time he ever spanked Mal with a hairbrush was such a fraught occasion, and he’s already so tense and volatile right now. The associations are too much for the kid, even if the actual spanks aren’t that bad.

For now, he focuses on helping Mal calm down. He rubs the kid’s back, soothing him and telling him how well he’s done, and as the kid calms down, Gil pulls his underwear and sleep pants up for him, tugging Malcolm up so he can hug him properly. The kid is still gripping Gil’s leg, and it takes a little bit of gentle persuasion to get him to let go and sit up for a hug.

Malcolm latches on immediately, clinging like an octopus. “Sorry, dad, m’sorry,” he tells him. “I didn’t think about how bad it could be, for me or for anybody who helped me. It just seemed like the easiest solution,” he admits.

“You’ll think next time,” Gil assures him, petting his hair. “I know you will. You learn from your mistakes, kid, and that’s no small thing.”

Malcolm practically purrs at him, snuggling in closer. His kid has always been especially desperate for praise after punishment, and Gil decides this is as good of a time as any to talk about the last week and a half.

“You’re doing great learning from this whole mess, Mal. You’re making better choices when you’re bored or upset and you need help, reaching out so we know what you need. And you’ve been doing good taking your meds and trusting Gabrielle to adjust your doses safely. I’m proud of you for that. I know you like to be in control of your medicine, and that’s probably the hardest part of this grounding. And you’ve only broken your grounding even a little bit once, that first full day. And you admitted you made a mistake, you didn’t wait for me to catch you,” Gil tells him. 

“I’m trying,” Malcolm tells him quietly. He’s still a little teary, but he seems much calmer. “It terrifies me, how quickly everything spiraled out of control without me even realizing what a slippery slope I was on. It was because I put way too much trust in The Surgeon, and I stopped thinking for myself. Now, I’m putting that much trust in you, Jackie, and Mom, but I need to be thinking for myself instead, don’t I?” Malcolm asks quietly.

He’s surprised to hear the kid call Martin The Surgeon. He usually refers to him as Dr. Whitley. He wonders if it has anything to do with Malcolm realizing for the first time lately that his dad was actually a danger to him, not just dangerous in an abstract way. He’s less surprised by the insight- his kid is bright.

“That’s the end goal,” he tells Malcolm. “But you need to feel more ‘back in control’ before you get there. And as long as it takes you to remember to stop and think things through for yourself, you know it’s safe to just trust our judgement. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” Mal tells him softly. “I just want to get it right.”

“You will. It’s coming. Right now, the judgement call you need to make is recognizing that you’re still a little compromised, and trusting us to take care of you till you’re at your best. And I’ll have some idea, and so will Gabrielle, but the only person who will know for sure that you’re back to normal is you. So that’s going to be your first big judgement call, telling us when you feel like you’re leveled out and thinking clearly again,” Gil explains.

“Are you going to believe me when I do?” Malcolm asks. He fiddles with the short sleeve of Gil’s shirt as he waits for an answer.

“Am I going to go straight back to letting you be completely unsupervised, like you were when your mom left? Not quite. That’s too much responsibility for a fifteen year old, anyway. Am I going to give you the chance to show us you’re really ready to make better choices? Definitely,” Gil tells him, petting his hair.

Malcolm sighs. “I want it to be like the corner, Wednesday. Where we weren’t sure I could do it, but we tried, and I knew it’d be okay if I couldn’t. Not like last Monday, where we thought I could handle it and I screwed up,” he admits.

“That’s on me, to make sure we don’t overload you, then,” Gil tells him. “Monday was your bad choice, yes, but it happened because I didn’t give you enough structure. I’m sorry for that, kid. You’re doing so much better with a little more routine, and it’s completely natural for you to need that.”

“It’s okay, Dad. We fixed it,” Malcolm tells him. “Or, the moms did. They’re kind of terrifying.”

“I firmly believe those two women could reorganize the government if they ever decided they needed to,” Gil agrees.

Malcolm leans against him, content to be quiet for a moment, and Gil takes advantage of the kid’s stillness and just pets him. Malcolm hardly ever lets himself just ‘be’. Gil will take it.

Finally, when he feels the kid getting restless, he says, “I could use some fresh air. What do you say we hit the park and find lunch?”

Malcolm smiles at him. “Yes, please!”

“You want to drive into Manhattan, or walk over to Prospect?” Gil offers.

Malcolm considers this. “Can we get bodega sandwiches on the walk over?” he asks.

“Of course, kid,” Gil tells him, and that apparently settles that. “I’ll let you get ready.”

Malcolm joins Gil in the living room a few minutes later, dressed and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, you need the fresh air, too,” Gil tells him with a smile.

“I’m an intellectual being, but our bodies are designed for a certain amount of movement,” Malcolm agrees.

They talk about nothing of much importance as they walk to the park. Malcolm is trying to wheedle hints about his mother’s plans for the next week out of Gil, but they’ve made the choice to keep the lessons a surprise, and Gil doesn’t budge. Malcolm pouts gloriously.

“You’re going to enjoy it all, I promise you. Your mom did really well- she even had to talk me into one of them,” Gil reveals, thinking of the archery. “But she thought you’d really like it, so she convinced me you could handle it.”

Malcolm grins. “I can’t believe she’s scheduling me and delivering me like a parcel from  _ France,” _ he laughs.

“She’s Jessica Whitley. If she wants a teenager delivered, that teenager is being delivered on time and gift wrapped,” Gil tells him with a chuckle. “Even I know better than to mess with her.”

“I didn’t expect you guys to plan anything cool for me to do, this month,” Malcolm admits pensively.

“Like I said, the grounding isn’t about making you miserable. It’s more… protection than punishment. You scared us, with this. I’m keeping you close and keeping a good eye on you, so I know you’re okay,” Gil explains.

“Have I said I’m sorry for scaring you? I mean, obviously I’m sorry I broke the rules, and took drugs, and lied, and everything else. But I’m also just… sorry I made you guys worry. I didn’t think about that- how you’d feel about me being in danger. I was so sure I was right and what I was doing was safe,” Malcolm admits, contrite.

It’s a glimmer of real thought and understanding about what went wrong, and Gil rewards it with a smile. “Thank you, Mal. I appreciate that.” He considers Malcolm’s current mental state and responds with a bit of honesty. “I’m scared every time you see your dad, because something like this could happen. Not this specifically- it’d never occurred to me he’d try to mess with your head  _ chemically. _ But he’s such a skilled manipulator, I don’t know how to keep you safe from him, kid.”

Malcolm kicks a bottle cap on the sidewalk. “I never got that, before. I thought you were just being overprotective,” he admits. “That’s why I went to see him without telling you, to begin with. That wasn’t the first time. Not often! But occasionally, I wanted to talk to him about something and I knew you wouldn’t let me, so I just went.”

Gil considers this. “I think we need to start treating you a little bit more like an adult. Your mom and I have had so many conversations over the years about Dr. Whitley. Some with Jackie, some with Gabrielle, even. About what kind of threat he posed, and how we could protect you from him. And you couldn’t have handled that, when you were eleven. You loved your dad and you wanted him not to be a murderer. But you’ve grown up, and we’re still making all of the decisions without you,” Gil realizes.

“Recent decisions have definitely shown me why I don’t get to be part of those conversations,” Malcolm says derisively.

“That’s exactly my point. We’ve been talking about you getting your learner’s permit, right? Well, if the only riding in cars you’d ever done was with Adolpho driving you around, you wouldn’t have any clue how to drive yourself. And that would be fine, if you were just going to be chauffeured. But you want to learn to drive, so somebody needs to teach you. Now, you’ve spent a lot of time in the car with me, too. So you’ve seen what I do. That’s learning, kid, even if we never talked about it- you learn by watching. But when you said you wanted your permit, I started telling you a little about how. I narrate some, while I drive. So you know what I’m doing, for when you try to do it yourself. That’s like, step three, I guess. Step one is riding in a car, step two is watching, step three is learning, then step four is trying,” Gil explains.

Malcolm nods. “That makes sense. I couldn’t have gone from sitting in the back where I can’t see the driver to driving by myself. I wouldn’t even know where to put the key,” Malcolm says. “But I don’t get what that has to do with Dr. Whitley.”

“If you had to drive right now, you could. It wouldn’t be smooth, but if there was an emergency, you could get from point A to point B. And you  _ know _ I’m going to give you the chance to try it for yourself, so you’re waiting until we find a good time. That’s a safe, responsible way to learn to drive,” Gil explains. “But with your dad, we’ve left you on step one. You see him, but you don’t know what’s going on. We don’t tell you anything, because we’re trying to shield you from him. Which was fine when you were eleven- an eleven year old has no business ‘driving’. But you’re fifteen, and you want to be able to have an adult relationship with him. So since nobody’s doing step two or step three with you, you jumped right to step four, and tried to have a relationship with him totally separate from us. And you didn’t even know where the brakes were,” Gil explains, hoping his metaphor is making sense.

They’ve reached the park, and by mutual agreement they find a bench and sit down, focused on the conversation.

“So I should’ve asked for lessons, first?” Malcolm asks.

“I think you tried to, kid. You’ve tried to get us to let you see him alone, and we’ve said no. Because you aren’t ready yet. But we just made it a firm boundary, instead of trying to get you ready,” Gil explains.

“That makes a lot of sense,” Malcolm says. “What kinds of things do I need to learn?”

“Gabrielle is starting you off with an understanding of what’s wrong with him. She said you guys were going to discuss narcissism. And I let you check that book out for the same reason. The other thing is that you need to see how and why we make the decisions we do, before you can possibly learn to make good ones yourself. I’m going to talk to the moms- I think we need to let you listen, when we discuss your dad. Not add your own opinions, quite yet, but you need to know what thought goes into the decisions we make. Even though you won’t like some of them,” Gil admits.

“Like what?” Mal asks.

“Like the frank discussions we’ve had about you sharing your dad’s interest in medicine and psychiatry, and why that’s dangerous. Not because you’re going to turn out like him, but because he uses that to draw you in. We’ve talked about how he’s the expert, and he uses his expertise to manipulate you,” Gil admits.

“It wasn’t a surprise to everyone that my dad would manipulate me. Just a surprise to me,” Malcolm realizes.

Gil nods. “Just the most obvious time it’s happened.”

“He’s supposed to be my dad,” Malcolm says sadly.

“I can’t explain that one for you, kid. I think I’m the last person alive who can really understand what Martin Whitley’s thinking. We’re practically opposites,” Gil says.

“The serial killer and the cop who took him down,” Malcolm agrees.

“No… I mean, the universe gave him the gift of being your father. He had the chance to be your dad, and take care of you and help you grow up. And he threw it away because his killing was more important. I knew what a terrific kid you were that first day, and I never understood how he could not care what his crimes would do to you, when I knew I’d do anything to protect you the day we met,” Gil tells him slowly. “He was your dad. I can’t imagine anything in the world being worth throwing that away.”

Malcolm leans in to snuggle against his dad’s shoulder. “I don’t think you guys loved me the same way at all. With him, I’m like… a trophy. A really great trophy he’s’ proud of, but I’m  _ his. _ That’s why I matter. You never worried about being able to claim me, until I claimed you. You just loved me,” he muses.

“Kid, you are so worthy of love,” Gil tells him, pressing a kiss to Mal’s dark hair.

“You’re a better dad than him, even if he wasn’t a serial killer,” Malcolm decides. He thinks for a long moment, and Gil lets him process.

What he asks is the last thing Gil expected. “Are you and Jackie going to have kids?”

This is a minefield. Gil remembers what they just talked about about explaining why they make decisions to Malcolm, and wonders how much he should share. “Not right now,” he hedges.

“You’ve been married a few years. Usually, this is when you’d start having kids,” Malcolm points out.

“We already have a family,” Gil tells him softly. “Maybe in three or four years, we’ll want a baby.”

“Once I’m in college,” Malcolm realizes. “Do you not want me around the kid?” he asks softly, desperate hurt coloring the words.

“No!” Gil assures him, pulling the kid closer automatically. “No, kid, it’s not that at all. You’re a terrific big brother,” he tells Malcolm. “You’re in a really critical phase of your life, right now, and having another kid wouldn’t be fair to either of you. Nobody’d get our full attention because we’d be pulled in too many directions. So we haven’t talked seriously about whether we want kids, because we know now isn’t the time.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you and Jackie don’t get to be parents,” Malcolm tells him insistently.

“Kid, you’re the person who  _ made _ us parents,” Gil tells him fondly.

“Don’t you want a kid who’s actually  _ yours?” _ Malcolm pushes. “Your DNA?”

“I’m not so vain I need a kid to look like me. And the important stuff, we’re already passing on to you. My morals, Jackie’s love, things like family recipes… everything about me I want to live on, I already see in you, more and more every year. I know your… Dr. Whitley thought the most important thing about having a kid was living on through your DNA, but he’s an idiot,” Gil tells the kid.

“He’s a malignant narcissist,” Malcolm agrees.

“So I didn’t get to see your first steps, or teach you to ride a bike. I get to teach you to drive, and shoot a gun. I get to see you walk across the stage and get your diploma, and one day your degree. I don’t feel like I’m missing out.” Gil thinks for a moment, and decides there’s one more thing he needs to make sure the kid knows. “And if Jackie and I do have another kid one day, it won’t be because you weren’t enough, it’ll be because raising you was so wonderful we want to do it all again, this time with an amazing big brother for the kid.”

Mal turns to hug him, burying his face in Gil’s chest. Gil pulls him close, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and stroking, just holding Mal as long as he needs.

When the kid pulls back, he scrubs a hand across his face, though Gil doesn’t think he’s really been crying. Just a little tearily overwhelmed. “I love you, dad,” Mal tells him.

“I love you too, kid,” Gil says. “Now, do you want to walk around some more, or should we sit here and eat?”

They do walk a little longer, finding a spot further inside the park to sit and eat their lunches. They avoid heavier topics, and wind up discussing whether Malcolm ever wants to own a car. “Not if I stay in New York,” he decides. “It’s easier to use drivers. But somewhere else, probably. Depending on the public transit.”

“Your mother would lose it if you started taking the MTA everywhere,” Gil tells him, laughing.

“Well, if I’m living in Chicago or DC it won’t be the MTA!” Malcolm tells him with a laugh.

“Good point, kid. Good point,” Gil says.

They head back to the house after lunch, to gather up the library books Malcolm is done with and make another trip to the library. Malcolm is thrilled this is a weekly grounding tradition. “Why do you think I’m taking you to the library every Sunday?” Gil asks. He’s serious about Malcolm learning to think through the ‘why’ behind decisions.

“Reading is a safe and approved hobby while grounded,” Malcolm tells him.

“Good. That’s why I’m taking you to the library every week. Any clue why I’m doing it on Sunday?” Gil asks.

Malcolm thinks for a long moment. “So I have something to look forward to, so I don’t just dread Sundays?” he asks.

“Exactly, kid. It’s not tied to the weekly lesson or punishment directly, but it’s something good to look forward to afterwards. Sometimes, it helps to have something good for later,” Gil explains.

“Thanks,” Malcolm says simply.

They have fun at the library. Malcolm finds more ‘fun’ books, and he doesn’t grab anything Gil needs to approve before he gets it, this week. “I haven’t read The  Davinci Code yet,” Mal remembers.

“Neither have I,” Gil agrees.

Gil makes spaghetti for dinner- Malcolm is clearly relieved not to have to stand in the corner anymore while his dad cooks. After dinner, they settle in the living room together and each begin  Davinci Code . They agree to read the first three chapters, then discuss it.

“I like it,” Gil announces when they’ve both finished.

“Me, too,” Malcolm agrees. They discuss the book for a little while, then Gil catches Malcolm glancing hopefully at the Harry Potter book sitting on the coffee table.

“We’re definitely making our summer reading goals,” Gil teases with a laugh, picking up the book and holding out an arm for the kid. Mal snuggles in against him, though he decides he wants to be the reader, tonight. They get through a couple of chapters before Mal starts to flag and Gil decides it’s time for bed.

“I’m going to wake you up a little earlier in the morning, because we need to talk about how things are going to go,” Gil explains. “Your mom will call you at some point and tell you what the plan is. I think you’re going to have fun, and we’re trusting you to make good choices tomorrow while you’re out of the house, and follow the rules of your grounding- nowhere but where Adolpho takes you, for the length of the lesson. And all of the same rules apply while you’re here before and after.”

“That’s fair. I’ve got it, Gil,” Mal tells him, and he kisses the kid’s head and sends him to bed.

Gil knows next week is going to be interesting, but he hopes it’s going to be a good one. It’s good, to see the kid starting to sound like himself again.


	9. The One With Harry Potter Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm makes it through week two of his grounding like a champ, spankings and all. Friday is a roller coaster, of good and bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am going to be posting a lot, as I wrap this up. I'm missing doing episode fics, but I don't want to have two WIP going in the same series, so I'm trying to get this one wrapped up so I can get started on that.  
> I would love honest feedback about what you guys think of doing more younger!Malcolm stories. I can't decide if I'll want to check in on him at other ages or stick to the time he's on Gil's team, after this one.

The second week of Malcolm’s grounding isn’t quite as much of a roller coaster as the first. He has a  _ blast _ learning to rock climb and shoot a bow and arrow, and does the chores Jackie assigns him without complaint. He talks to one or both of the ‘moms’ every day, and he and Gil read every night and are almost finished with Sorcerer’s Stone. Gabrielle is pleased with his progress and continues adjusting his medication doses back toward normal- and Gil trusts him enough to believe the new adjustments, after his Thursday session. It is, all in all, a pretty good week, even if he does get spanked Tuesday and Thursday.

“Dad?” Malcolm asks quietly, Friday morning over breakfast.

“Yeah, kid?” Gil says, looking up from his own yogurt. Gil has court today, so they’re making breakfast quick. Maybe this isn’t the time to bring it up.

“I was reading the narcissism book I got at the library yesterday, and I realized something,” Malcolm admits. He didn’t bring it up last night because he was already being spanked, and he was scared to get another. But this morning, he feels bad for the deception.

“What, Mal?” Gil asks patiently. His dad is always patient with him and always loves him, Malcolm reminds himself. Even when he screws up. It’ll be okay. And he’s not even sore, today, so another spanking won’t be  _ that _ bad. He hopes he doesn’t get two- one for the original mistake, and one for not confessing when he realized.

He won’t be able to argue if his dad does decide to punish him separately for each, Malcolm decides. The ‘theme’ this week was lying, and he’s pretty sure not confessing when he caught the mistake counts as a lie on its own. He’s such an idiot sometimes. Gil’s going to be so mad at him- if Malcolm can’t even admit his mistakes, because he doesn’t want to be punished, maybe he’s no better than his father. Hiding what he’s done wrong and manipulating the people around him.

Malcolm is breathing too fast, he realizes abruptly. His skin feels too hot. He’s panicking. This isn’t good.

But Gil is beside him in a second, wrapping a gentle hand around his wrist and bringing Mal’s hand to his own chest. “Breathe with me, kid, I’ve got you,” he says gently, making eye contact with Malcolm and holding it. There’s nothing but love and concern in those warm brown eyes, and Malcolm lets Gil pull him back into himself.

“Sorry,” he says, when he feels better. “That was ridiculous. You don’t have time for this, this morning.”

“I  _ always _ have time for you, kid,” Gil tells him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Malcolm would like to use either Gil’s need to get to work or the panic attack as an excuse to abandon the conversation, but he  _ knows _ he owes his dad the truth, and he refuses to add another lie to his mistakes.

“I was reading the book about narcissism, and then I saw Gabrielle. So I was thinking about psychology,” Malcolm explains.

“Makes sense,” Gil tells him, a gentle encouragement to continue.

“And I… I realized we forgot to put the psychology journals on the list. Of lies. Because I subscribed when I knew I wasn’t allowed to and hid them, deliberately, and that’s lying. I know it is. And I didn’t tell you yesterday because I knew I was getting spanked already and I didn’t want another, but I have to tell you, even though you’re going to spank me,” Malcolm confesses.

“Good job, kid,” Gil tells him, hugging him. Malcolm hugs back, surprised. “I didn’t even think about the journals, honestly. And I’m  _ so proud _ of you for saying something- you could’ve gotten away with this one, kid.”

“Even though I didn’t tell you right away?” Malcolm asks softly.

“Yeah, Mal. It was hard, but you still did the right thing,” Gil tells him. “So yes, hiding the journals was a pretty big lie and you need a spanking for it, but I’m so proud of you for coming clean, kid- with everything else, I forgot about them.”

“I’m gonna have to wait until tonight, aren’t I?” Mal asks distastefully. He knows his dad doesn’t have time to spank him and make it to court on time.

Gil frowns. “I could get the DA to stall calling me if I need to, but I really don’t want to spank you this morning, kid- your activity today would not be fun on a sore bottom,” he explains.

Malcolm sighs. “That’s fair. I don’t want to get spanked at all, Gil,” he confesses.

“I know, kiddo. I know. And it sucks that doing the right thing got you a day of dreading a sore butt, here, but I am  _ really _ proud you spoke up. And there’s something I’ve been considering tonight, that I think you definitely deserve, after we get your spanking out of the way,” Gil tells him.

“What?” Malcolm asks, intrigued.

“The next Harry Potter book comes out, tonight. Would it be too uncool to go to the release with your old man?” Gil asks, groaning as he stands back up.

Malcolm gapes at him. He’d been excited to go to one of the releases- his favorite bookstore, where he’s pre-ordered it, is a small independent one, with customers of all ages who love the series, and she’s doing a small, themed party for the release- not a big, overpoweringly crowded celebration. When Goblet of Fire came out, it’d only been a couple of years since his dad’s arrest and there’d been no chance, as bad as his sleep patterns were, of staying up until midnight for a book release, so this is the first one he’d hoped to attend.

Malcolm had been disappointed that, with his grounding, he wasn’t even going to get to  _ read _ it until early July. He hadn’t been willing to beg for an exception to get Gil to take him to pick it up, knowing how badly he’d screwed up. He’d worried she’d resell his copy anyway, when he didn’t come for it. He’d forgotten, with everything, that tonight  _ was _ the release.

He’s never heard of a book so popular it has midnight release parties, before Harry Potter. It’s exciting to be  _ part _ of that, as well as to get his hands on the next installment of a book series he loves. And he’s loving it even more than he used to, sharing the stories with Gil.

“Really?” he asks his dad.

“Really,” Gil tells him. “You had mentioned it, before, as something you had been looking forward to. I was already thinking you deserved a chance to go, and after you pointing out we forgot about the journals… yeah, kid, we’ll go to your book party.”

Malcolm whoops joyfully, bouncing to his feet to hug his dad. “Yes! Thank you so much!” he says, thrilled. “And I’m really glad you’re coming with me,” he says shyly.

“The bookstore I pre-ordered at is nice. It’s a small, privately owned one. The owner’s really nice. She’s limiting it to pre-orders and a guest, so it won’t be a huge thing, and all of her ‘regulars’ are really nice book nerds. It’ll be fun, and you’ll fit right in, Dad!” he says excitedly. “Can we go home first for my wand?”

“You have a wand?” Gil asks, eyebrows shooting up.

“It’s a replica. It’s just a fun prop I got after the first movie came out,” he explains.

“Yeah, kid, we’ll go get your wand,” Gil promises.

His dad looks at his watch, then, cursing softly. “I’ve got to get to work,” he realizes.

“Go, I’ll clean up breakfast,” Malcolm tells him. “I’m fine, Gil, don’t worry. Mom will be calling soon and sending me off somewhere for the afternoon.”

Gil kisses him on the head, grabbing his jacket and heading out the door. Malcolm waves at his dad, and even though no one’s there to know, he finishes his yogurt before rinsing the containers and putting them in the recycling. Gil expects him to take good care of himself, and Malcolm likes that his dad is starting to trust him to make good choices, again.

His mom calls a little before eleven. “Good morning, Malcolm,” she says.

“Hi, mom,” he tells her. He’s still excited, so he adds, “Guess what? Gil’s taking me to the Harry Potter release!”

“Wow,” his mother says, in a tone that makes him realize the adults may not have talked about this plan. He hopes she’s not so mad at him still that she’ll tell Gil he can’t go. “You must’ve been being very good, for him to decide you deserve a special treat like that.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Malcolm tells her uncomfortably. His dad was really proud of him for reminding him about the journals, but he still feels a little awkward about having remembered yesterday and waited until today to speak up.

His mom knows him well. “Sweetheart, we don’t expect you to be perfect. You are doing very well. I see an improvement since early last week, just from the parts I hear about,” she tells him.

“Thanks, mom,” he says quietly.

“Now, I think you’re going to enjoy today’s plan. You’re learning horseback riding!” she announces.

He immediately gets why Gil wasn’t willing to spank him this morning, even if it wouldn’t have made him late. It’ll be fine, today, but he’s pretty sure there’s going to be at least one week this month where having to go riding is going to  _ suck. _

His mom can be vindictive, when she wants to be. He knows this is her way of adding a little extra punishment- he’s ridden before, not enough to really say he knows how, but he does remember being sore afterwards. And Gil’s going to  _ spank _ him, on top of it! 

Malcolm feels angry tears threatening. It’s not  _ fair- _ Mom isn’t punishing him like Gil does, where he knows exactly what the punishment is for and that he’s forgiven afterwards. She’s sneaking unpleasantness into his day so he’ll be miserable, just because she can.

“Gee,  _ thanks, _ Mom,” he says, tone dripping with sarcasm.

She answers with a sweet, “You’re welcome, Malcolm,” and he imagines she’s smirking at him across the ocean. “I loved riding as a child.”

So she definitely knows how unpleasant it’s going to be, adding soreness from riding to his punishments. She’s found a way to hurt him from across the ocean. Malcolm is disappointed- he’d been looking forward to today’s activity, since she’d picked fun ones for the other two. He feels blindsided by extra punishment, instead.

“That’s great for you,” he snaps.

“Malcolm!” she scolds, surprised. Because he’s supposed to be a good little boy and let her get her revenge. The angry tears he’s been trying to push back threaten to spill over.

“You just have to twist the knife, don’t you?” he asks her. “You’ve got a sadistic streak as big as your husband’s!”

Malcolm goes cold the second he says it. He’s being cruel, and he knows it, even before he hears his mother’s breathing tremble. His own angry tears spill over as he hears her begin to cry. Making her feel as bad as he does hasn’t made him feel any better, even if it seems like it should have.

“I’ll cancel the lessons at once,” she tells him. Of course- she doesn’t actually want him to have  _ fun. _ Archery and rock climbing were only introduced so she could take them away. Typical.

“Would-” his mom’s breath catches, and however hurt and upset he is, he feels guilty for upsetting her so much. He  _ deserves _ whatever punishment and misery she wants to heap on. He has no right to lash out in response. He’s the worst son ever. “Would you like me to see if they can get you in for another archery lesson, instead?” she asks softly.

“What?” Malcolm doesn’t understand. She’s tormenting him with the horseback riding lessons, and she’s taking the others away as punishment for him being rude about it. Isn’t she?

“You don’t want to learn to ride. I’m sorry. I loved Kensington Gardens as a child, I thought you would…” she trails off, clearly upset. “I won’t force you, dear. Do you want me to try to get you another archery lesson, instead?”

Malcolm feels about two inches tall. “You thought I’d like riding?” he asks. He’s still crying, as he realizes he may have just  _ really _ screwed up.

“Some of my favorite memories of my childhood took place on horseback. It’s like flying, Malcolm. Learning is a great way to get out of your head, and once you know how… it’s so calming. Such peace… I wanted you to have that, darling,” she explains.

Oh, God. “Mom, I’m so sorry,” Malcolm tells her immediately. “I didn’t… I thought you meant…” he’s hyperventilating. He’s been on a yoyo of emotions this morning, from confessing to Gil, to the news about the book release- which he’s sure he won’t be attending, now- to the apparent misunderstanding about the lessons.

“Malcolm,” his mother snaps out, her tone absolutely unbending. “Breathe. In. Two. Three. Hold, two three. Out, two three.” She counts it off for him and he obeys automatically.

After a few cycles of coached breathing, his mother says, “There, that’s better, isn’t it, Sunshine?”

Malcolm nods, then realizes she can’t see him. “I’m okay. I’m sorry, mom… I thought…” He gathers himself, assuring her, “I’ll go to the riding lessons. And I’ll be sore when I get home, and Gil was already going to spank me tonight, because we almost forgot about lying about the psychiatry journals, and, and I’ll tell him what I said to you. I’ll tell him I deserve the hairbrush, mom, it hurts so bad, and I’ll already have gotten spanked once! And he won’t let me go to the book release, once he knows.”

He’s trying desperately to assure her he’ll be punished for what he said, because he’s horrified at himself. He made his mom  _ cry _ because he assumed she was trying to hurt him, and lashed out in response. The last time he made his mom cry like that, Gil absolutely  _ blistered _ him, and she’d forgiven him after and held him. He just wants his mom to forgive him.

“My poor, sweet boy. You don’t need all that, for one little tantrum. We’ll talk about what we’re going to do about your lessons, then we’ll deal with your punishment,” she tells him.

“Yes, ma’am,” Malcolm says, subdued.

“I didn’t think about how sore learning to ride can make you, darling. I remember now that’s why you didn’t stick with it when I took you riding for Mother’s Day that one year, because your poor little bottom and legs were so sore, afterwards,” Mom tells him. 

He’d forgotten his last experience with riding had been Mother’s Day. Ainsley had been just a couple of years old, and Mom had said she wanted a Mother/Son day as a Mother’s Day present. They’d gone riding and gotten lunch and seen a movie, but he’d been too fidgety after bouncing around on the hard saddle to sit through the film and they’d left early.

So riding is something she’s wanted to share with him before. Mom wasn’t torturing him, she was trying to share something she loves, that she thought he’d enjoy. He feels  _ terrible. _ “Mom, I’m sorry.”

“I understand why you don’t want to do iit, Malcolm. I’ll make alternate arrangements,” she tells him. Why couldn’t he have just told her why he didn’t want to ride? Or even complained and whined about the  _ riding _ instead of attacking  _ her? _ He’s such a jerk.

“Sorry,” he says again.

“We’ll sort it out, darling,” she assures him. “I am sorry for not considering the potential unpleasantness of learning to ride.”

Malcolm ‘hmms’ in quiet agreement, too guilty to say more.

“Sweet boy,” his mom says, “if we video call, will you be able to stand in the corner for me while I get your lessons sorted out? I’ll be right here with you,” she assures him.

Malcolm considers this. He feels terrible. If his mom wants to put him in time out, he’ll accept it. “I’ll be good,” he promises, “You don’t have to watch me.”

“I’m not watching because I don’t trust you, dear. I’m watching because you’re upset, and I don’t want you to be alone and in trouble,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, feeling fresh tears threaten at his mom being  _ nice _ to him, after how bad he was.

“You made a mistake, dear. I understand why, even though it shouldn’t have happened. And now you feel guilty, don’t you?” she asks.

“So guilty,” he confesses tearfully. “And I’m going to have to wait for tonight when Gil gets home to be punished, and I  _ can’t-” _ He means to tell her he can’t stand the guilt and having her upset with him, but he dissolves into tears.

“Oh, my sweet baby boy,” his mom says. “I wish I could hold you, right now. I hate being so far away when you need me.”

That does make him feel a tiny bit better. He can’t stop crying, though. “I’m going to call Gil,” she decides.

“He’s in court,” Malcolm tells her tearfully.

“Then I’ll text him. He gets a lunch break, surely. We’re going to deal with this before your lessons, and you’re going to be fine, darling,” Mom tells him.

“Gil’s busy,” Malcolm argues. He’s making more trouble for Gil, too. And his dad is going to be  _ so mad _ at him. “I’m sorry, mom, I’m not usually so mean to you it’s too big to deal with without Gil!”

“Sweet boy, listen to me. I’m going to punish you for this, okay? It wasn’t anything big or terrible, just you losing your temper and saying something you shouldn’t have. I’m okay, Sunshine. You don’t need to worry about me,” she assures him.

“I made you cry!” Malcolm wails.

“Yes,” his mother admits, pausing awkwardly. “But I think we’re all a little more emotional, right now. A lot has been going on. I’ve texted Gil- they should recess around noon. And I’ve got a car coming to pick you up to bring you to the courthouse- Gil is going to help me, because I think a spanking will be easier on you than losing privileges, right now. So you’re going to stand in the corner for me for a few minutes, while I make some calls about your lessons. Then, we’re going to go over to the courthouse, and I’m going to tell Gil what kind of spanking I need to give you, so he can do it for me, and hold you for me. Then it will all be over. Nobody is taking away your book release party, dear,” she tells him.

Malcolm cries softly. “I’m sorry, mom,” he repeats desolately. Dimly, he realizes this is one of those ‘oversized emotional responses’ Gabrielle was telling him about. But the realization is distant, and he’s too deeply sunk into the guilty misery to use that knowledge to  _ fix _ it.

“We’re going to video call now, dear,” his mom tells him. Malcolm accepts the call when it comes through on his phone, blinking at his mom.

She looks worried. He feels bad all over again for upsetting her. “Okay, sweet boy, you’re going to go stand in the corner for me now, alright? You’re going to be very good for me, and then we’ll go see Gil for a little spanking and your punishment will be all over and you’ll be forgiven,” she tells him.

Malcolm goes to the corner as instructed. “Now, dear, you’re going to stand here still and quiet just like Gil expects when he puts you there. If you break the rules, I’m going to count, and you’ll get an extra spank for each time, understood?”

Malcolm nods. “Good boy,” she tells him, pressing a kiss to her fingers and touching the camera on her phone. Malcolm feels a little better in response.

His mom gets on her hotel phone while he stands in the corner, calling someone. Malcolm feels like he’s probably not supposed to be watching her, so he looks over his shoulder, not sure what to do with his eyes. His mom covers the phone receiver with her hand and tells him, “That’s one, dear.”

Oops. Malcolm’s eyes snap back to front. He lasts another minute before his mom says, “I can see you moving around, dear. Two.”

He hadn’t actually realized he was doing it, and he stops rocking back and forth as soon as she points it out. He stays still and quiet for a couple more minutes, but it’s hard. “Mo-om,” he whines quietly, wanting to know how much longer he has. Gil always tells him a time.

“Three, Malcolm,” his mom tells him sternly.

“But-” Malcolm splutters. “That’s not  _ fair!” _

“And four, Malcolm Charles. The corner is not the time or place for conversations, as you well know,” she tells him.

Whoever had her on hold seems to come back to the phone, and she answers them, keeping a stern eye on him. He glares at her, screwing up his face in annoyance, and she raises an unimpressed eyebrow and holds up five fingers.

The count cowes him, and he ducks his head guiltily. He knows what’s expected of him in the corner.

He manages to make it through the rest of the time out without earning any more extra spanks. He sighs in relief when his mom hangs up her hotel room phone and tells him, “Alright, Malcolm, we’re all finished with the corner.”

“I didn’t mean to act up,” he says softly.

“You did very well. I only had to remind you a few times. Five extra spanks, that’s not too bad,” she tells him. “Go get your shoes and put them on, please.”

Malcolm obeys, sliding on his tennis shoes. He’s wearing track pants and a t-shirt, because he hadn’t been sure what mom had planned for the day. He’s actually still not entirely sure. Luckily, she tells him as he puts his shoes on.

“I called the archery range. They’re actually starting an axe throwing group, so I’ve signed you up to learn to do that, instead of horseback riding,” she announces.

Malcolm stares at her. “That… sounds  _ awesome!” _ he says, delighted.

She smiles. “Good. I’m glad you’re pleased. Let’s switch back to a regular call, dear, and I’ll check on the car.”

They hang up briefly, while his mom calls Adolpho. When she calls back, she says, “He’s pulling up. Don’t forget your keys, and make sure you lock the door.”

Malcolm resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’s not  _ five. _ He does as he’s told, sliding into the back of the car. His mom tells him about the ‘lovely girl’ working reception at the archery range, and how excited they apparently are to start axe throwing classes. He nods along, nervous. His mom apparently isn’t mad at him for being rude, earlier. But his dad’s definitely going to be. And he still feels terrible- he was so  _ mean _ to his mom. Comparing her to The Surgeon was completely uncalled for, aside from how sad she’d been that he didn’t want to try horseback riding.

When he gets to the courthouse, Gil is waiting for him out front. His dad immediately hugs him tight. “Your mom said you guys got a little off track and you needed my help sorting things out,” his dad tells him. “I’ve got about forty minutes until I’m due back in court, and they’re letting me borrow one of the witness holding rooms.”

His dad leads him to a small room with a table and a few chairs. He’s still carrying the phone, connected to his mom. “Put me on speaker, dear,” she requests, and he does.

“Alright, Gil. I appreciate your help dealing with this. All you need to know is that Malcolm lost control of his temper a bit while we were talking, earlier, and said some not very nice things that he didn’t mean. Normally, I would just take away privileges for a little fit like that, or send him to his room for the afternoon. But he has axe throwing lessons later.” Gil raises an eyebrow, surprised. “And he was very excited to go to the book release with you, tonight. I think losing either of those things would be too big of a punishment for his mistake, so he’s had a few minutes in the corner and now he needs a little spanking to remind him to keep hold of his temper when he doesn’t like something,” Mom explains.

“Got it. What did he say?” Gil asks.

“He thought I was trying to be mean, with the horseback riding lessons. I had forgotten how sore it left him, when we went riding when he was younger. Poor dear couldn’t sit through a movie afterwards. Now, I think that was because they had him in the wrong kind of saddle, but this is not the time to try to problem solve that. So we’re doing axe throwing classes instead, with the archery people,” she tells him.

“I said some awful things to her. Told her she was being sadistic. Like The Surgeon,” Malcolm admits, since his mom hasn’t actually told on him yet. “I made her cry, Gil,” he confesses.

Gil looks shocked, and Malcolm closes his eyes against the sudden press of tears. “Mal!” he exclaims.

“I am handling it, Gil. You are helping me, for logistical reasons, but it was not as bad as Malcolm is making it sound. He is upset. I am the parent who was present, so I will be deciding what level of consequence he deserves,” Mom says firmly.

Gil nods. “Got it, Jess. Your call. I’m just the hands,” he agrees.

“He’s already had a time out. It was a long one- he needs five extra spanks for the times he moved around or spoke during his punishment,” she begins.

His dad nods. “Okay.”

“Now, as far as a spanking for the tantrum- it was a little fit. Can you put him over your knee, in the room you’re in?” she asks.

Gil looks around. “I can sit on the table and pull him over my lap or put my foot in a chair and flip him over my thigh,” he reports.

“Over your lap, I think,” Mom decides. Gil sits on the table and Malcolm comes to stand by his dad’s side. “Help him take down his pants and underwear, please.”

So he’s getting a bare bottom spanking without a warm up. Malcolm wonders if that’s because his mom wants it to be more painful, or if she doesn’t know Gil usually warms him up on his underwear first. As much as Malcolm does  _ not _ enjoy the warm up, he’s a little scared to get a spanking without it.

His dad is angled so Malcolm’s torso will be on the table and his legs will hang down to the floor. Gil pulls down his track pants and underwear and Malcolm blushes. Somehow, having his mom listening-  _ instructing!- _ is much more embarrassing than just getting spanked.

“When he’s getting bedtime spankings, how many spanks do you usually give him?” Mom asks as Gil helps him into place.

“Including the warm up, probably forty or fifty?” Gil says. “I don’t exactly count.”

“Those are a reminder to make better choices, not a big punishment, yes?” she asks.

“Exactly,” Gil tells her.

Malcolm stays quiet, wondering where this is going. He supposes his mom is trying to pick a number- she probably has no idea how many spanks are in a spanking. Now that he thinks about it, Mal’s not sure he knows either.

“I think three dozen will be enough,” Mom decides. “Malcolm, this spanking is to remind you not to lash out at your family when you’re confused or upset,” she scolds.

Gil spanks him then, and Malcolm gasps at the first swat. The sting of spanks on his bare bottom without any warm up is worse than he expected. He hisses and whines in miserable guilt through the short spanking. His whole butt is sore and stinging by the end, though he knows it’s not nearly as bad as a real spanking.

This is mom’s show, so Gil doesn’t scold as he spanks. It’s weird, not being asked what he did to earn the spanking or being scolded between swats, but Gil is obviously letting Mom run things. Malcolm tries not to feel adrift, without Gil’s voice.

When Gil stops at the end, mom speaks again. “Remember, he earned five extras during his corner time. Malcolm, darling, we’re almost finished. You’re doing so well,” she tells him.

Malcolm braces himself, and his dad gives him five sharp spanks on the backs of his legs. “Oww! Sorry,” he says, once the last spank falls.

“You’re forgiven, dear, I promise. Gil, get him dressed and hold him, please, he’s had a rough day,” his Mom says.

Gil helps him get his pants back up and stand, pulling him immediately into a hug. Malcolm goes, feeling steadier. “You’re okay, kid. We’ve got you,” his dad tells him, hugging him close.

"You did very well, darling. I'm so proud of you for holding yourself together so we could get this sorted out," Mom tells him. 

Malcolm buries his face in his dad's chest. "I'm sorry, mom," he says again.

"It's over and forgotten, Sunshine. You don't need to worry about it anymore," Mom assures him.

Malcolm shakes his head. "Gil spanking me, or you spanking me through Gil or whatever, doesn't just  _ erase _ how I hurt you!" he cries.

His mom considers this carefully. Gil just rubs his back, letting them handle it.

"You're right, dear,  _ just _ getting spanked doesn't change what happened." He feels Gil look up sharply, inhaling like he's about to speak. "It does, however, mean you deserve forgiveness- including from yourself," Mom tells him.

Malcolm groans. "I know I'm  _ forgiven," _ he sighs. "I want to make it  _ better!" _ He can't get his mom's shaky, hurt voice out of his head.

"You already did, dear," she tells him softly. "Even before your dad spanked you for me. Do you know how?"

Malcolm shakes his head. "We're getting a 'no' over here, Jess," Gil verbalizes for him, and he remembers his mom can't see him.

"You apologized and you meant it. You  _ tried _ to make it better. That showed me you hadn't meant the mean things you said, so I didn't have to worry that's how you really feel. Malcolm… I've made mistakes that hurt you just as much when I was angry, haven't I?" she asks.

They've had some spectacular fights. Mom has said things she didn't mean and so has he, more than once. Malcolm nods. Apparently, Mom somehow knows, because she continues. "You've let me apologize and forgiven me when I've hurt you, dear, of course your apology was enough for me."

Malcolm considers this. "And you had Gil spank me, bare with no warmup!" he agrees, because that was not fun. "Even if it wasn't much," he admits.

"Do you know why it wasn't much, sweet boy?" Mom asks.

Malcolm shakes his head. "I think he needs you to explain," Gil tells her softly, petting his hair.

"You didn't do anything so very terrible, and you meant it when you said sorry. You just needed a little punishment to help you remember, that we need to be kind when we're angry  _ and _ that you're forgiven," Mom tells him softly.

"Oh," Mal says quietly. "You're really not upset?" he asks.

"Gil, I really hope you're holding our sweet boy, since I can't," Mom says, then, "I'm really not upset, dear."

"I've got him, Jess," Gil assures Mom.

"I wish you were here, Mom," Malcolm confesses. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, Sunshine. So much. And you know if you need me, I'll come back. Even if you just really want me to," she tells him.

"I'm okay," he says shakily. "You don't get to spend enough time with your friends, worrying about me."

"Darling, you and Ainsley are the most important things in my universe. I never mind being here for you," she tells him.

"Ainsley's a lot less work," Malcolm sighs. "I bet you wish you had two of her instead of me."

"Gil, swat him for me, please, that was wholly unacceptable." Mom's voice has gone stern and tense. Malcolm winces, waiting for a stinging whack.

"No, Jess," his dad says, surprising him. "Spanking him isn't going to help him learn  _ why _ that was wrong, just teach him not to say it out loud where we don't know he's thinking it."

Gil fixes him with a serious look, and Malcolm pulls his shoulders up to his ears, automatically nervous. "You are special and loved just the way you are, kid. You have more challenges to deal with than Ains, but we don't resent you for them, we just wish you didn't have to deal with them. And we'll never leave you to face them alone."

Malcolm doesn't know what to say to that, so he sniffles and butts his head against Gil's shoulder, trying to thank him. "I've got you," Gil tells him, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and pressing a kiss to his hair.

"You are so loved, sweetheart," Mom tells him.

"I know," Malcolm says. "I- thank you. I love you guys too."

"Gil, do you have to go back into court soon?" Mom asks.

"I have another few minutes," Gil assures her.

"Did you get to eat? You need lunch!" Malcolm says. His parents are very specific about the importance of lunch.

"I didn't. You want to grab a hotdog with me?" Gil offers. There are always hotdog stands outside the courthouse.

Malcolm agrees, and Mom laughs. "You two are incorrigible. Hotdogs from a street vendor? Really?"

Malcolm grins. "Statistically, they're as safe as any other New York restaurant."

Mom sighs fondly. "Well, then you two go have your statistically safe lunch, and leave me out of it! Malcolm, darling, Adolpho will pick you up from the courthouse and take you to the archery range for axe throwing," she tells him. "And please call me after, dear, I want to hear all about it!"

"I will, Mom. Thanks. I love you," he says.

"And I love you, Sunshine," Mom tells him, hanging up.

Malcolm chances a look at Gil, wondering if he's going to get scolded again. But his dad just tugs him to his feet and leads him outside with an arm across his shoulders.

"Do you think she's really okay?" Malcolm asks.

"I do. I don't think you did anything as serious as you felt like you did, kiddo," Gil assures him, ruffling his hair 

Mal screws up his face. "I hate upsetting her. I made her  _ cry _ Gil."

"I know, kid. And I know it's hard, but you have to forgive yourself now- we've already forgiven you," his dad assures him, stopping in front of the hotdog stand to order their food 

Malcolm takes his hotdog and follows his dad to the courthouse steps to sit and eat, enjoying the sun. "It's hard," he admits once they're seated.

"I know, kid. Everybody struggles with moving on from our mistakes. But you can't beat yourself up about every bad choice you ever make," Gil tells him 

Malcolm smiles impishly, daring to tease, "That's your job, right?"

"That's part of it, kid," Gil tells him seriously. "Part of why I punish you when you mess up is because consequences help you move on. I think that's why your mom decided you needed a spanking today."

"Because I felt so guilty," Malcolm agrees.

"Now, you know you're forgiven and you can move on," Gil tells him, and Malcolm thinks it kind of sounds like an order. He nods, thoughtful, and eats his hotdog.

When they’re done, Gil stands up. “I’ve got to get back to court,” he says, pulling Malcolm into a hug.

“Thanks, Dad,” Malcolm says, hugging back. As his dad heads back inside, he pulls out his phone to call Adolpho and let him know he’s ready- he’s got axe throwing lessons to get to!

****

Axe throwing was as amazing as he’d thought it would be, and the teacher says Malcolm is a natural. His mom is pleased when he calls to tell her, and none of the sadness from earlier lingers in her voice. Malcolm still asks if they can go riding- together- at some point this summer, and she’s obviously thrilled.

That excitement puts the last of his guilt to rest- his mom had been trying to do something nice for him, and share something she likes. Even if he’s pretty sure he’s not interested in horseback riding, it will make his mom happy to try, and Malcolm feels better having ‘made up’ for her disappointment.

So he’s in a pretty good mood when he gets home from axe throwing. He decides abruptly to cook dinner- Jackie hasn’t assigned him a chore today, since it’s an ‘activity’ day, but Gil will have been in court all day, and they’ve got a lot going on this evening. He can help! It also makes him feel a little better about disturbing Gil at work, because he was so worked up about the argument with Mom.

He makes a simple chicken and rice bake Jackie cooks a lot, calling her to double check the recipe.

“It’s very sweet of you to cook dinner,” she tells him softly.

“I know Gil doesn’t  _ mind _ how much of his time and attention I take up. But I still feel like I should help when I can, you know?” Malcolm tells her.

“Families all help each other, Malcolm. In so many ways,” Jackie agrees.

Gil doesn’t look  _ too _ exhausted when he walks in the door. “Verdict?” Malcolm asks hopefully.

“We got him. Jury only deliberated ten minutes,” Gil announces. “What smells so good?”

“I made dinner,” Malcolm says. “Chicken and rice. Called Jackie to make sure I remembered the recipe, don’t worry.”

“Thanks, kid. I really appreciate it,” Gil tells him, hugging him as he goes to get out plates and set the table.

Malcolm wheedles for details about the trial during dinner. “You know  _ Mami _ says no shop talk at the table!” Gil scolds, but he’s laughing.

“Because it makes  _ her _ squeamish. Or most people. But it’s just  _ us,” _ Malcolm points out. “We can do whatever we want!”

“Oh, can we?” Gil asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, whatever  _ you _ want,” Malcolm admits with a grin. “I do not have an equal deciding vote, for some reason.”

“You’re fifteen,” Gil says, trying to sound exasperated. It comes out fond, instead.

“Fine, don’t tell me!” Malcolm says, pouting exaggeratedly.

“Oh, I’m definitely not going to,” Gil assures him. “I would never tell you about a drug murder at the dinner table, or about how we caught the guy because he was wearing limited edition sneakers, with a very distinct tread pattern. And he turned out to be the only guy, of multiple suspects who had bought the shoes, who  _ wore _ the things!”

“Sneaker-heads would probably equate wearing valuable shoes while committing a potentially bloody murder with actually killing someone,” Malcolm tells him.

“We got that impression, from his friends. And DNA, from blood splatter on the shoes,” Gil tells him.

“Thwarted by fashion,” Malcolm laughs.

“It was definitely one of our weirder ones,” Gil agrees.

Gil finishes eating first, and he packs the leftover rice bake into tupperware, leaving it on the counter unsealed to cool before he puts it up. Then he turns his attention to the dishes.

Malcolm joins him a minute later, adding his own plate to the pile and then taking the towel to dry. He used to think it was weird that the Arroyo’s didn’t use their dishwasher- Gil swears he’s going to fix it one of these days, but it’s been  _ three years- _ but he kind of gets it. There’s something calming about doing the dishes together, something very soothing and just  _ there, _ without the need for conversation. It’s also a great time to talk without having to make eye contact, when something’s on his mind.

“Mom and I are going horseback riding when she gets home,” Malcolm announces.

He sees Gil smile as he hands him a spatula. “That so?” his dad asks.

“She really loves riding. She wants me to love it, too,” Malcolm explains. “But she cancelled it as soon as I got upset.”

“If it was supposed to be a treat, she wouldn’t want to send you to the stables if you were  _ worried _ about it, even if she thought you’d like it once you got going,” Gil points out.

“Yeah,” Malcolm agrees.

“I bet you guys’ll have fun. And I know it’ll mean a lot to your mom, getting to share riding with you, even if you don’t stick with it,” Gil tells him.

“And I got axe throwing instead,” Malcolm says with a grin. “Which was  _ so cool!” _

“And absolutely something I would’ve tried to talk her out of. I barely agreed to archery!” Gil admits.

“I was careful, Gil. Half the first lesson for both was just about how to be careful,” Mal assures him.

“Good. And I’m glad you had fun,” Gil tells him, passing him the last plate.

Malcolm dries the plate while Gil puts the dry dishes away, then hangs up the towel and looks at his dad nervously. “Are you going to, um… now?” Malcolm asks.

“Probably better to get it over with, kid,” Gil tells him.

Malcolm glances nervously at the spoon. He  _ really _ hopes this is just a spoon spanking, not a brush one. He’s relatively confident it doesn’t rise to the level of deserving the belt.

“Grab it and let’s get this done,” Gil tells him. Malcolm gets the spoon off the wall and lets his dad lead him to his bedroom.

Malcolm is getting to be a pro, as many times as he’s been spanked lately. He pulls down his pants without being asked, helping as his dad tugs him into place across the bed. Once he’s settled, Gil asks, “Why am I spanking you, kid?”

“Sneaking around to get the journals was a lie. And doing it by having them sent to Dr. Whitley was a  _ dangerous _ lie,” Malcolm admits.

“Clearly,” Gil tells him, and Mal knows they’re both thinking of the killer’s manipulative drug advice. 

So he’s not surprised when the first spank lands hard. He yelps at the sting, but he gets himself under control and keeps it to little huffs through the warmup. The whole time, he can’t stop thinking about how he gave The Surgeon the tools he used to manipulate him- tools he could’ve used to kill him.

So Malcolm is already a little teary, more from how upset he is that his father could’ve hurt him than from the spanking, when Gil pats his hip, encouraging him to lift up so his dad can tug his underwear down. The first swat on bare skin  _ blazes _ across both of his cheeks and Mal winces. How is he so sore? He wasn’t feeling this morning’s spanking when they sat down for dinner, much less when this one started.

He may still have been a little tender- emotionally as well as in his behind. Malcolm is reduced to tears quickly as his dad scolds, “If we tell you ‘no’ about something, there’s a reason. We aren’t just being mean. You can always ask about the reason, but you don’t sneak around hiding things to disobey us.”

Gil spanks harder, between each word, every spank landing across Mal’s sit spots, as he adds, “And you absolutely do not ever team up with Martin Whitley to deceive us, Malcolm.”

Gil pauses, obviously taking a breath. Malcolm realizes miserably that his dad’s trying not to lose his temper.

“I’m sorry,” he cries. His tears are soft and guilty, but constant. He’s not really crying about how much his bottom hurts, yet, he’s crying because he did something stupid and dangerous and dishonest and disobedient, and now his dad’s busting his butt.

Gil rubs his back for a moment before reaching for the spoon, and Malcolm whines through his tears, knowing it’s going to hurt.

“I know you’re sorry, kid, and I’m proud of you for reminding me about the journals. Next time, think it through  _ before _ you lie to me. If you’re hiding something, it probably means you know better,” Gil reminds him.

“I promise!” Malcolm agrees, and the paddling begins.

Gil is spanking  _ fast, _ the spoon landing over and over faster than Malcolm can cope with the sting, and it makes him lose control very quickly. He’s not just crying, he’s howling, kicking, and pleading, “Owww! Dad, please, owww, it hurrrts! I won’t lie anymore, I promise, I’ll be so gooood!”

“I’m glad to hear that, young man.” Gil has gone back to spanking between words, and every spank is  _ hard _ and they’re all on the lower third of his bottom, “Because I am going to paddle your bottom  _ every _ time you lie to me, no matter how big you get or how right you think you are.”

Malcolm doesn’t hear whatever his dad says next, he’s too busy howling, “OWWWWWW!!! Daddyyyyyy!”

His dad gives him a spank so hard he gasps, his whole body flailing, right across both cheeks at the lowest part of his bottom. “I asked you a question, Malcolm.”

“Didn’t hear,” he admits miserably.

“I asked,” Gil gives him a hard spank. Malcolm’s body jerks. “If you,” and another hard wallop on the other side. “Were  _ ever _ ,” across the middle of his sit spots this time, and Malcolm tries not to beg. “Going to,” Malcolm sobs as his dad spanks low on his left cheek, close to where they meet. “Work with,” Gil repeats the spank on the other side and Malcolm makes a desperate, keening noise. “Martin. Whitley.” Each of those words gets him a  _ hard, _ punishing whack across the center of his sit spots, right on top of each other. Malcolm clenches his fists, legs jerking erratically with the pain. “To keep a secret from me, again?” Apparently sensing that Malcolm has had about all he can take, Gil doesn’t swat him again as he finishes the question.

“NEVER!” Malcolm yelps. “I promise, Dad, never ever. I won’t!”

“Good, kid. Good,” Gil tells him, and his dad’s not spanking him any more, he’s rubbing his back soothingly. Malcolm keeps crying, just lying over Gil’s lap, for a long moment.

Finally, his dad pats him gently on the back and asks, “You think you can get up?”

Malcolm nods shakily. He doesn’t  _ want _ to move, particularly, but he would like a hug.

Gil does most of the work, pulling Malcolm’s pants and underwear up over his hot bottom and guiding him to his knees on the bed. Then his dad hugs him tight, and Malcolm just hugs back, sniffling.

“Sorry, dad,” he says after a long moment.

“You’re forgiven, kid,” Gil assures him.

Malcolm just burrows closer, and his dad lets him. When he finally stands up a few minutes later, he’s surprised at how much the stinging pain has settled down. He feels it when he moves, yes, but he’s pretty sure he could sit without much trouble.

Which is good, he realizes, looking at the clock, because they need to leave soon. “Can we get ready to go?” he asks his dad.

“Soon as you’re up for it. I didn’t ask when this thing starts,” Gil tells him.

“Nine, but I want to dress up. Oh- we need to figure out what Hogwarts House you’re in!” Malcolm realizes. “We have to call Jackie!”

“Why?” Gil asks.

“She’ll know your house,” Mal tells him confidently.

“What are you, kid?” Gil asks.

“Jackie says I’m a Gryffindor, because I’m brave, but they’re fearless. I don’t think anybody with an anxiety disorder belongs in Gryffindor,” Mal says.

“Kid, you’re the bravest person I know,” Gil tells him. They’re almost done with the first book, so he’s apparently confident in his wife’s assessment of their kid. Malcolm decides not to argue. He kind of likes it. “Harry wasn’t  _ fearless, _ he just kept going even when he was scared, or things got hard. That’s you all over.”

“I kind of want you to be a Gryffindor with me, because you’re so brave, I mean, you’re a cop! But you have to be really smart to be a good detective,” Malcolm muses. “Except Hufflepuffs are all about loyalty and taking care of people, and you put us first above everything,” he considers. “I don’t know!”

“Then let’s call Jackie,” Gil says, leading Mal into the kitchen to find his cell phone.

“What Hogwarts house is Gil?” Malcolm demands, as soon as she picks up.

“Hufflepuff, of course,” Jackie says, not even pausing.

“Wait, what?” Gil asks. “Aren’t they the wimps?”

“Forgive him, we’ve almost finished Sorcerer’s Stone,” Malcolm says, making his tone long suffering. Gil doesn’t  _ know _ yet.

“You’ll understand when you read Goblet of Fire,” Jackie tells him.

“Why do I feel like I’m joining a cult?” Gil asks with a smile.

“One of us! One of us!” Malcolm cheers.

“Can it, kid. Why does it even matter what house I’m in?” Gil asks.

Malcolm looks at him like he’s crazy. “House ties!”

“I don’t own a yellow tie, Malcolm,” Gil says, sounding like he’s worried Malcolm will be disappointed.

“My robes came with a full set. Just put on black pants and a white shirt. Do you have a black sweater that isn’t a turtleneck?” Malcolm asks, shoving him toward his room.

“He does,” Jackie announces. “You never wear it, Gil, but you have a v-neck black sweater in the back of your closet.”

“It’s June, We are in New York City, I’m not wearing a sweater,” Gil says firmly.

“Fine. Shirt and Hufflepuff tie?” Malcolm begs.

“Alright. I’ll do that much. But neither of us is going to have fun if we pass out from heat exhaustion,” Gil tells him.

“He has a point,  _ mi luz,” _ Jackie tells Malcolm, who sighs, because this is totally unfair.

“Let’s get ready, so we can go get our ties and my robes and wand!” Malcolm decides, before his dad can back out of dressing up at all.

Malcolm has standard black pants and a white shirt in his closet at both homes, because his mom says he always needs to be able to look nice. He throws them on, barely even pausing when his butt protests rushing through getting dressed. He’s  _ excited! _

Gil gets dressed and joins him, and Malcolm practically drags his dad to the car. He has a little bit of trouble finding his spare ties, but the Hufflepuff one turns out to be in the pocket of his robe- he gave Jackie the Ravenclaw one, and Ainsley borrowed his Slytherin tie when she convinced him to ‘play wizards’ with her once. He chooses not to let it bother him that his little sister prefers playing the evil house.

The party is everything Malcolm hoped it would be- low key, but with other people, his age through way older than Gil, who love the books too. They talk about their favorite characters and parts of the stories, eating themed snacks and drinking non-alcoholic ‘Butterbeer’ and it’s an all around amazing night.

When they get home, Malcolm is exhausted and buzzing with a sugar high and excitement. He’d meant to stay up and read the book, but he’s exhausted and doubts he’s going to make it very far. He hugs his dad hard before going to get ready for bed.

“Thanks, Gil,” he says, yawning. “This was really special.”

Gil cups the back of his head, pulling him a little bit closer. “I’m glad you had fun, kid,” he tells him.

Malcolm falls into bed with a temporary tattoo of a snitch on his arm, exhausted, the book sitting on his nightstand unopened. He’ll get to it tomorrow. Tonight, he’s just too tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so full disclosure: I am a Slytherin. I am not saying Slytherin is bad, just that Malcolm would have thought so then. And Hufflepuff is not weak! They're both wonderful houses.


	10. The One With The Farmer's Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week three is upon us, and Malcolm is really starting to do better. The boys cook, read, hit the farmer's market, and have a very frank discussion about where Mal's at, as far as his recovery process. It's not all smooth sailing (nothing ever is) but it's a good weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is really, truly doing better! That said, I'm probably going to avoid his perspective for a while, because I've noticed it's *very dramatic*. I like getting to check in with him, but it's not the best for the 'action' scenes. So we're parked in Gil mode right now, though we'll probably visit Jackie and Jessica's perspectives again soon.

The Saturday leading up to the third week of Malcolm’s grounding, Gil takes advantage of the kid’s determination to read the whole new Harry Potter to call Jessica and Jackie mid afternoon.

“Hello,  _ mi amor,” _ Jackie greets him.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Gil says. “How’s your dad?”

“He’s doing well. He’s feeling enough better that we are able to enjoy the chance to visit, not just worry about his health,” Jackie says. She hesitates. “Gil… do you think Jessica would bring the kids down for a visit, one day?  _ Papi _ goes on and on about wanting to meet his grandson.”

“I think it couldn’t hurt to ask,” Gil tells her. “I was about to call Jess, actually- I need to talk to you both about something.”

“Alright, I will ask,” Jackie decides.

“Hello, Gil,” Jessica says when she picks up. “How are things in the City?”

“Malcolm’s doing well. Devouring the new Harry Potter book,” Gil tells her. “Last night was good. I’m glad we got a chance to just have some silly fun.”

“And he’s doing alright?” Jessica asks.

“Seemed much better when I got home last night,” Gil assures her, then realizes Jackie isn’t caught up. “Jacks, he…”

“Jess told me,” Jackie says. “It sounds like yesterday started off rough for everyone.”

“But it ended better. And the kid and I were talking about something last week, that I think we all need to discuss,” Gil says.

“What?” both women ask.

“We’ve got to start treating him like he’s fifteen, when it comes to his health. Not just letting him be responsible for the meds himself-I think it’s about time to hand that back over, supervised- but understanding why we make the decisions we do, about Martin, and Dr. De Leux, and the things we decide are just too much for him,” Gil says.

“So he can make good choices, later,” Jackie agrees.

“Right now, we’re so scared he’ll break we keep him wrapped in bubble wrap, sometimes. And it’s not helping- when he does go rogue he goes so wild it’s dangerous, because he doesn’t know  _ why _ we make the rules we make,” Gil explains.

“What brought this on, right now?” Jessica asks, reserving judgement.

“I don’t want to spank him for messing with his meds,” Gil says. The silence is deafening. “I think it’s going to be better to  _ teach him some good common sense _ instead. He needs to get that these are dangerous drugs, and professionals should be prescribing them, and why.”

“Otherwise he’ll just do it again when we aren’t paying attention,” Jessica realizes.

“Exactly,” Gil agrees. “And he’s going to  _ have _ to make these decisions for himself, one day. I want him to know how to do it right.”

“What are you thinking, Gil?” Jackie asks.

“I don’t know. Not ‘no punishment’. Just something that makes him think,” Gil muses.

“We can assign him an essay. Perhaps on the education needed to become a pharmacist or psychiatrist, and why those are the only people who should be making decisions about his meds?” Jackie suggests.

“He’ll enjoy that,” Jessica says. “And I’m not saying we need to make him miserable, but you know why I had you spank him Friday at lunch, Gil. He needed some kind of punishment to move on. I’m not sure a research project is going to fit that criteria.”

“What if you tied it in with giving control of the meds back?” Jackie muses.

“What?” Gil asks, not following her.

“When he acts out, just a little, we give him a little reminder- just a few swats. Or when he’s made a big mistake, you give him spankings at bedtime to help him remember what he did wrong. What about something like that, tied in to good habits with his meds?” Jackie muses.

“You’re thinking bedtime spankings, instead of a ‘big’ one?” Jessica asks.

“What if-” Gil tries to put his idea into words. “Instead of ‘bedtime’ it’s a few swats when he takes his meds. He can have them back and be in charge of taking them in front of me, and before he does, he has to tell me why it’s important to take what’s prescribed, and he gets something like a dozen spanks?” Gil suggests, thinking out loud.

“Morning and night?” Jackie asks.

“Still less swats than a bedtime spanking,” Gil points out.

“That sounds fair,” Jessica muses.

“Then you can let him take back over his meds with only casual supervision the last week he’s grounded, so he’s ready to be in charge of them again once things are back to normal,” Jackie adds.

“I think it’s a good plan,” Jessica says.

“I agree,” Jackie adds.

“Works for me,” Gil agrees.

Then, he considers something. “Do I do the full spanking routine, or just bend him over the counter and spank him over his pants?”

“I think you treat it more like a reminder than a real punishment,” Jackie says. “Just repetition of the lesson.”

“Makes sense,” Gil agrees.

“I think that this might actually work,” Jessica says. 

“Between the three of us, we always figure it out,” Gil tells her. They finish the call with promises to talk next week, and Gil goes to check on the kid.

He’s lying half on his bed, nose buried in his book. “How’s it going, kid?” Gil asks.

“Great, you wouldn’t believe what just-” Malcolm stops himself. “I can’t spoil it,” he says, halfway frustrated.

“I’ll get to it soon enough, haven’t read any since Thursday, but we’re almost done with the first one,” Gil reminds him.

“We can finish it after dinner?” Malcolm offers. “I kind of got distracted, sorry.”

“You’re allowed to have stuff you want to do. You don’t have to keep me entertained,” Gil assures him.

“What do you want to do about dinner?” Mal asks. “I can help!”

Gil grins at him. “You up for grilling hamburgers?” One of Gil’s favorite things about having a small ‘yard’ is being able to grill outside.

“Yes!” Malcolm tells him. “Just let me know when you want to get started!”

Gil leaves the kid to his book and goes to defrost hamburger meat. It’s going to be a good weekend, he can tell. He gets the meat out and goes to his bedroom, where his laptop is set up on Jackie’s desk, to check how the Yankees are doing. The hardest part of the kid being grounded has been not being able to watch the games- maybe once the grounding is over, he’ll see if Mal wants to go to a game.

Gil catches up on sports news until he decides it’s time for dinner. He checks the hamburger meat- thawed, good. Then he goes to get Malcolm.

“You still want to help me grill?” he asks.

“Almost done with this chapter, just give me a minute,” Mal tells him.

“I’ll get the ingredients out, should give you time to finish. I want to get started on these before it gets dark,” Gil tells him.

Malcolm makes an agreeable noise, not looking up from his book, and Gil goes to gather the ingredients and toppings. By the time he’s gotten out all the things he needs for burgers, there’s no sign of the kid. “Ready when you are, Mal!” he calls.

“Just a sec!” Malcolm calls back, so Gil goes ahead and chops the tomato and the onion, then pulls leaves off of the lettuce.

“Kid, we need to get cooking!” he calls again.

“I  _ said  _ I’m  _ almost done!” _ Malcolm snaps back. Gil sighs, considers calling him on the attitude, then decides he’ll let it slide. He’ll give Mal five minutes, then if he’s not out, Gil will just go get the grill lit himself.

Six minutes later, there’s still no sign of Malcolm. Mindful of how annoyed the kid seemed by the interruptions, Gil goes to get the grill started. Hopefully by the time it’s hot, Mal will be ready. Gil lights the charcoal and gets it preheating, going back in.

“Kid, I’m going to have to start making the burgers without you if you don’t hurry,” he calls, but there’s no response from Mal.

Gil sighs and begins mixing the patties. He’s got them piled on a platter, ready to go outside, when he decides to check on the kid.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to help grill,” he tells Malcolm, though he’s disappointed- he’s barely seen the kid all day.

Malcolm looks up, looking surprised. “I’m coming!” he says, and actually puts the book down.

Mal frowns when they get to the kitchen. “You started without me,” he says accusingly.

“I called you over and over. You kept saying ‘almost’ and I told you we were going to run out of light,” Gil explains.

“Fine. I don’t want burgers anymore. I’m going to go read,” Malcolm decides.

“You’re not skipping dinner,” Gil tells him.

“Doesn’t seem like it matters if I’m here or not,” Malcolm sasses back, darkly bitter.

He’s not supposed to let this stuff go, Gil reminds himself. “Lose the attitude,” he warns the kid, hoping Mal will get himself under control.

“Or you could just  _ get lost!” _ Malcolm tells him angrily, turning to leave.

“Freeze,” Gil tells him sternly.

Malcolm turns to face him, looking alarmed. “Dinner’s not even ready yet. I can’t skip dinner before it’s cooked.”

“Are you telling me you think your attitude just now was okay?” Gil asks firmly.

Malcolm stares at him, opening his mouth to argue. Then he closes it, ducking his head. His hair falls across his eyes. “No,” he admits simply.

Gil crosses his arms, frowning at the kid. He’s not sure where this fit has come from, but he’s not letting it get any further. Not sure what prompted it, he’s also not sure what Mal needs right now, so he gives him a choice. “Two options: you either get to stand in the corner while I cook dinner, or you bring me the spoon for a reminder about your attitude, then you can either go back to your room till the food’s ready or help me cook,” he decides.

If Mal is wound too tight, he won’t be up for the spoon, and a time out will help him calm down. If he wants to be reading and resents Gil dragging him away from his book, he’ll take his spanks and go back to it. And if his feelings were hurt that Gil started without him, when he wanted to cook dinner together, a quick spanking will put a period on the fit and they can finish dinner together and have a better evening.

Mal frowns like he wants to argue, then sighs, his shoulders falling a little from their tense, angry posture. He goes and gets the spoon. Gil cups the side of his face, tilting it upwards so he can make eye contact. Mal looks frustrated and anxious. “Just a quick reminder,” Gil reassures him, turning him by the shoulder and bending him over the kitchen island.

Mal goes without resisting, and Gil lays the spoon against his backside. “You don’t get to be rude to me because you’re upset.” He gives the kid a pair of spanks. Mall hisses.with each one. “Talk to me when something is wrong.” Gil gives him another couple of whacks, low. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s up, kid,” Gil reminds him with two more spanks to punctuate the scolding. The kid huffs out a pained sigh.

“Sorry, Gil,” Mal says quietly.

“Six more and we’re done, kiddo. Deep breath,” Gil warns, giving him half a dozen more sharp swats, spread across the lower third of his bottom.

Mal groans, “Owwww,” as he finishes.

Gil helps him up and turns him for a hug, relieved when the kid’s arms immediately wrap around him. Gil kisses his hair before releasing him. “Put that back,” he says, giving Mal the spoon, “Then you can go read or help me cook.”

“I want to help,” Malcolm says.

“Grab the grill spatula and let’s get out there. I lit it already, the grill should be hot. I may have let the coals go out,” Gil says.

“Sorry,” Malcolm tells him awkwardly, obviously recognizing that he was the cause of the delay. He digs through a drawer looking for the metal spatula they use on the grill.

“Hey, if they went out, we’ll re-light it. No big deal,” Gil tells him. He grabs the platter the burgers are on- he’d only had two pound or more packages of hamburger meat, so he made a few extras he figures they can have as leftovers.

The coals are still lit. Gil puts the burgers on the grill but leaves watching and flipping them to Malcolm, standing back to let the kid take charge. “Do you want to tell me why you were so mad, earlier?” he asks. Sometimes Mal has an easier time talking when he has something to do with his hands.

Malcolm shrugs, keeping his attention on the burgers. “This sounds dumb- it was my choice to spend the day reading. But I missed you. I felt like I hardly saw you all week, then again today,” he admits. “Then you were fine with just doing dinner without me…” he trails off.

Gil wraps a warm hand around the spot where Mal’s shoulder meets his neck, rubbing his thumb across the skin soothingly. “I was trying not to distract you from your new book. How about if you want to read, you come settle in the living room with me? We can be companionable and you can do your own thing,” Gil suggests.

Mal looks over to flash him a quick smile. “Yeah.” He looks back at the burgers. “I thought we were going to finish Sorcerer’s Stone tonight, though,” he realizes.

“That’s up to you- if you’re really wrapped up in the new one, we can wait,” Gil assures him.

Mal flilps the burgers as he considers this. “I’d rather read with you,” he decides.

Malcolm is clingy for the rest of the evening. He sticks close to Gil as they get the burgers finished, to the point where Gil almost steps on him when he’s fixing his burger. He’s quiet over dinner, asking Gil about his recent cases but not volunteering much information himself. And as soon as they finish eating and do the dishes, he turns to stare at his dad expectantly.

“Why don’t we make Jell-O? It can harden overnight,” Gil suggests. The kid is out of sorts- comfort food can only help. And it’s something to do  _ together, _ since Mal missed out on most of fixing dinner. Next time, Gil is just dragging him out of his room and making him be social. It’s easier on the kid, in the long run.

Parenting a teenager isn’t easy. Gil wonders if he’ll ever be confident about the push/pull of letting Malcolm stretch his wings. These days, it seems like he’s constantly second guessing when the kid needs space and freedom and when he needs support and structure. It doesn’t help that Malcolm  _ himself _ doesn’t always seem to know what he wants, much less what he needs.

They make the Jell-O, and Gil is very careful to make sure they use sparkling water. He doesn’t want a repeat of  _ that _ disappointment. Malcolm seems a little more relaxed when they slide the container into the fridge to harden.

“Should we see what Harry and the gang are up to?” Gil asks.

“Trouble,” Malcolm tells him seriously, laughter sparkling in his expression. “They’re always up to trouble.”

“That must be why I like them. And why you relate so much!” Gil teases the kid.

Malcolm huffs. “You love it!”

“Yeah, kid, I really do,” Gil tells him, mussing up his hair as he passes him on the way to the living room.

Gil picks up the book from the end table, and Malcolm sits beside him and reaches over to steal it. “I’m reading. We’re right at the part where things get crazy. You need to sit back and appreciate this.”

Mal leans against Gil and begins reading excitedly. Gil settles in to listen, enjoying the further adventures of the magical eleven year olds- and when did this become his life? He hasn’t seen a single pitch in weeks, and yet somehow, he’d rather be here, squished against the armrest listening to Mal read about wizarding pre-teens, than watching recaps of the Yankees vs. Mets game he missed earlier today.

***

Gil decides they could do with a treat, Sunday morning, so he drags Malcolm out to get donuts for breakfast. He pretends not to notice how exhausted the kid is- he hadn’t heard Mal wake up with nightmares, but he’s willing to bet the kid stayed up late reading. Mal doesn’t have a set bedtime, though, so Gil doesn’t comment- he’s trying to remember to let Mal make his own mistakes.

They bring the donuts home- or at least the ones they don’t eat on the way. “What is it with cops and donuts?” Malcolm teases him as they walk back into the house.

Gil pretends to consider the question carefully. “Well….” he says, “You have to have excellent judgement to be a cop, and donuts are the perfect breakfast food.”

Malcolm laughs. “You know, I wonder if the cops and donuts thing was thought up by criminals who wanted to slow you guys down,” he muses.

“I’ll show you slow,” Gil threatens, advancing on the kid like he’s going to chase him. Malcolm puts the table between them, laughing as he fakes left.

“You forget- I’ve got the donuts!” he reminds Gil, holding up the bag.

“Okay, fine, truce,” Gil tells him, laughing. He started a pot of coffee before they left, and he gets a second cup now. Malcolm fixes himself a cup too, and they sit down to eat the rest of the donuts.

“Can we go to Webster today?” Mal asks as they eat.

“You wanting a different selection of books?” Gil asks.

“Yeah. It’s a good library, they might have something interesting,” Malcolm explains.

“Sounds good. We’ll go after lunch. Can you think of anything you especially want to eat next week? We need to do a grocery list,” Gil says.

“Blueberries,” Malcolm requests. “I don’t know what I want to do with them, but I want blueberries.”

“We can do that,” Gil agrees. He gets the list they keep running on the fridge, adding blueberries and a few other things they think of as they eat. He looks it over and considers suggesting they hit the Greenmarket before the grocery store. “We’re going to have a busy day,” he realizes.

Malcolm’s smile fades. “You wanted to make Jell-O last night, taking me for donuts for breakfast… today’s going to be really bad, isn’t it?” he asks. That hadn’t been what Gil was thinking, but if the kid is bringing it up he’s probably ready to discuss punishment.

Gil puts a hand on the back of Mal’s neck, rubbing gently. “I don’t think so. But this week is going to be a little different,” he says.

“Hit me,” Malcolm says, putting down his donut.

“Go get your notebook,” Gil tells him. Malcolm does. “Okay, now, what did you do wrong?”

“I stopped taking some meds, and took too much of others. I didn’t tell Gabrielle what I was taking. I let someone who wasn’t my doctor tell me what meds to take,” Malcolm says, jotting it all down.

“That last one kind of straddles the line between ‘things that are about the meds’ and ‘things that are about Dr. Whitley’ I think,” Gil tells him. Malcolm looks askance, but Gil decides to leave it where it is.

“The rest of it… Remember what we talked about, about how you learn to do important things, like driving a car?” Gil asks.

“Yeah. You have to see it, and learn the steps, before you can do it,” Malcolm tells him.

“I think we need to do a better job of teaching you  _ why. _ Not just, ‘Do it!’” Gil tells him. “I think the fact that we started these routines, with the meds, when you were too young to understand what’s important means that you  _ know _ the rules, but you don’t really know why they matter. Like how annoyed you always get when I want to talk to the pharmacist about side effects.”

“I’m not too dumb to know better, Gil,” Malcolm snaps. “You’re treating me like I’m an idiot, or a baby!”

“Watch the attitude, kid,” Gil scolds.

“Or what? I’m too dumb to know how to behave, aren’t I?” Malcolm challenges. They  _ just _ had a standoff about Mal’s attitude yesterday. If he’s pushing this hard this soon, a reminder with the spoon wasn’t enough.

Gil sighs, standing up. “Go to your room, please,” he says, keeping his voice even. Jackie had suggested taking a flip flop to the kid when he got smart- Gil had hoped he wouldn’t actually have to do it.

Malcolm glares at him. “I’m not a child, Gil,” he argues.

“No,” Gil agrees, “Right now, you’re a disobedient teenager who’s about to earn himself extras if he doesn’t get moving.”

That gets Malcolm’s attention, and he rabbits down the hall. Gil goes to his own bedroom to retrieve one of Jackie’s flip flops, choosing one from a pair she’d bought before the trip but hadn’t taken, so he’s sure it’s clean. He tests it on his own thigh, wincing at the sting even through his jeans. It’ll make his point, alright. He takes the navy blue rubber sandal with him to the kid’s room.

Malcolm looks at the shoe, then back at Gil. “When Jackie suggested…” he trails off.

“It’s going to sting like hell, kid, but it doesn’t last long,” Gil tells him frankly. Already, the sting is fading from the spot where he smacked himself.

“Gil…” Malcolm whines.

“Shh, you’ll be okay,” Gil reassures him. He sits down on the bed, and the nervous kid comes immediately to his side. Apparently, however nervy Mal is about the new implement, he’s smart enough not to push for extra.

The kid takes down his own pants and gets into position with just a steadying hand from Gil. Apparently, being pulled up short has stopped the tantrum in its tracks. Gil’s glad- he doesn’t intend for this to be a bad spanking.

He considers going straight to the  _ chancla _ on Mal’s bare bottom, but it definitely freaked the kid out Friday when Jess had him spank him and didn’t know about warm up swats. He decides he’ll give the kid a warm up, then skip to the implement once he’s bare. He figures he needs to warn Mal- his kid has never done well with surprises.

“Your attitude just now was awful, and we just had this conversation yesterday night with the spoon. So I’ll warm you up like always, but you’re getting the whole bare bottom part of the spanking with the flip flop,” he tells the kid.

“Sorry, Gil,” Mal whispers, sounding teary at just the threat. Gil mentally braces himself- the kid’s going to yell his head off, he can already tell. Mal comes undone at stinging spanks faster than anything, and Gil’s never used anything on him that stung like this will.

He rubs Mal’s back, reassuring him. “Why am I about to spank you, kid?”

“I got mad about how you’re punishing me and I acted like a brat,” Malcolm confesses miserably.

Gil only gives him a dozen swats to warm up, just enough to make him smart and gasp a little. Malcolm, to his credit, doesn’t resist when his dad tugs down his underwear, but he does go statue still.

“Being rude never makes any situation better, kid,” Gil scolds, tapping the flip flop against the lightly pinked bottom in front of him. Malcolm wraps his hands around his dad’s leg, bracing himself.

Gil gives him a real wallop with the shoe, confident it won’t do more than sting, and Mal  _ screeches. _ “No! Ahhh, Gil, no!” he yelps, kicking wildly. He repeats the fit with the next spank.

Gil can barely keep him in place. He devotes all of his attention to holding Mal still for a moment, worried he’s going to tumble into the floor, then asks, “Kid, do you really want to feel what this thing will be like on your legs? Because we are headed there  _ fast _ if you don’t settle down.”

Malcolm stops kicking. “Good, Mal,” Gil praises him. “Now, you’ve got two dozen more of these to go, and if I have to stop and hold you down, we’re adding six extras on your legs. So I suggest you make good choices, kiddo.”

Two dozen sharp spanks with the flip flop will absolutely devastate the kid, in the short term. But by the time he’s calmed down, he should already be feeling much better. It’s a light sole- there’s no heaviness to it, no thickness- it’s going to be all sharp sting, no lasting ache.

So Gil doesn’t feel bad for spanking the kid hard with the thing. Malcolm does his best to stay still, flailing and crying out because it  _ hurts _ and he’s overwhelmed, but Gil can tell he’s trying to be good, so he just holds on tight and dodges flailing limbs. When Mal’s had two dozen, Gil puts the flip flop aside and rubs the kid’s back, waiting for him to calm down.

Mal is breathing hard but doesn’t seem to be crying. “See, kid, you’re okay,” Gil assures Mal, touseling his hair and continuing to rub his back.

There’s a beat and kid splutters, “That thing is evil.”

Gil helps him fix his clothes, so he can sit up. Malcolm does, wincing as the movement jostles his sore bottom. He skips kneeling for a cuddle and gets all the way to his feet, holding his backside and pouting furiously. “Evil,” he repeats.

“Then I suggest you watch your attitude,” Gil tells him, unimpressed.

Malcolm’s glare goes wobbly. “Sorry, Gil,” he apologizes.

“C’mere, kid,” Gil encourages, standing up and holding out his arms. Malcolm throws himself into the hug.

“I’m sorry, Gil! That was  _ awful,” _ he confesses. “Didn’t mean to be rude again.”

“Shh, you’re okay,” Gil tells him, petting his hair. “Everybody’s fine. I’ve got you.”

Malcolm gradually relaxes into the hug, clinging to his dad. When he’s breathing slow and relaxed, Gil tilts him back, cupping his jaw so he can see Mal’s face. “You ready to go finish our conversation?” he asks gently.

Malcolm nods, following him back to the kitchen and the notebook.

“Try and listen this time before you lose your temper, okay?” Gil tells him, squeezing his shoulder on his way to his own seat. Malcolm nods.

“I’m not saying you don’t understand that you need to take your pills as prescribed. I’m saying I think it’s time you learn  _ why. _ We’ve told you it’s a rule, but we’ve never spent much time talking about side effects or overdoses. We’ve counted on the structure  _ we _ provide to keep you on track. But you’re at boarding school, now. You’ll be looking at colleges soon. Your mom, Jacks, and I are not always there to monitor your medication, and I think you’re at the point maturity wise where we don’t necessarily need to,” Gil tells him.

Malcolm looks chastened as he says, “Except I’m a screw up who proved I couldn’t handle it.”

“Except you screwed up, and are  _ learning _ to do better, next time,” Gil corrects. “I guess what I’m saying is that I think this one isn’t entirely your fault, and I’d rather work on learning better ways of doing things, not just punish you for this specific bad choice.”

“I’ll do better next time, Gil. I get why you don’t trust me with the meds right now,” Malcolm says.

“Well, I think this week’s punishment is going to help with that. I want a researched paper, at least… okay, I don’t actually know how long it should be, ask Jackie, please, about the training pharmacists and psychiatrists go through to make decisions about and handle the medications you take, and why it’s important to trust  _ only _ the experts to make those decisions. That’s to start. It’s due Saturday, just like your letters were,” Gil says. The letters, Mal had finished Wednesday. He suspects the paper will take longer.

“What else?” Malcolm asks nervously.

“I think you need a reminder, when you’re taking your meds, that they aren’t toys, they’re serious drugs with serious potential dangers. So every meds dose, morning and night, we’re going to do a reminder, this week,” Gil tells him.

Malcolm looks miserable. “That’s a lot of spankings, Gil.”

“It won’t be that bad, kid. Just a dozen or so with my hand- won’t be as much every day as a bedtime spanking would, but we’re directly connecting it to the meds. I’ll ask you why it’s important to be careful with your meds, or something similar, you’ll tell me, you’ll get a few smacks, and we’ll move on,” Gil assures him.

Malcolm nods, biting his lip. “That’s the hard news, about this week. But there’s good news, too,” Gil tells him. “I’ve been keeping your meds locked up, only getting them out to hand you exactly the pills you’re supposed to take. Well, you’ve done good taking what you were told, communicating between me and Gabrielle, and not complaining about it. I think you’re ready to start handling your own meds again,” Gil tells him.

Malcolm looks up at him uncertainly. “You’re not worried I’ll do something stupid?” he asks.

“I trust you,” Gil assures the kid. “Look at all of the good choices you’ve made the past couple of weeks. And your brain chemistry is evening back out- you’re more yourself again.”

Mal nods once, hard. “I can handle it, Gil, I promise.”

“I know you can, kid. And I’m not abandoning you- I’m right here, if you start to worry you’re going to make a mistake,” Gil tells him. “So, does that sound fair to you? You talk to Jackie about the essay requirements, and we’ll do a reminder spanking every time you take your meds?”

Mal nods. “That’s fair. Um… how are you going to….” he trails off, awkward. Malcolm  _ hates _ the word ‘spank’..

“We usually keep your pills on the kitchen counter, right?” Gil says. Malcolm nods. “So when it’s time to take them, you can get them out and tell me. I’ll ask you why it’s important to be safe with them, we can just bend you over the counter, since it’s only a few swats.”

Malcolm considers this. “Can you still be… holding on to me?” he requests. “I’d feel better if I could feel that you’re there,” he admits.

Gil can do that. He nods. He’s pleased that the kid finds some comfort in his touch, even during punishment- that’s one thing he’d worried about, when he first started spanking Mal. That the kid would confuse being held and being disciplined. He’s very ‘hands on’ as a dad, in all ways, and Malcolm has always responded really well to physical affection. Gil is glad he’s a comforting presence for the kid.

“So… I already took my meds this morning. Does this mean I’m not getting spanked, right now?” Malcolm asks, as the idea occurs to him.

“I don’t see a spanking on the list,” Gil agrees.

Malcolm considers this, sitting back. “Wow. I um, I guess I’ve gotten so focused on how bad I messed up that I expect you to… find reasons to spank me?” Malcolm frowns. “I’m not saying you’re being unfair!” he immediately backpedals, eyes going wide as he considers the implications.

“No, kid, I get it. This mess is starting to feel neverending, huh?” Gil asks. Malcolm nods. “Think about where we started, and where we are now,” he suggests.

“I was in a mess brain chemistry wise. And Dr. Whitley had been manipulating me- making me feel like I shouldn’t trust you, too. Like I was better off on my own. And that was… not ideal. I’d lied to you and mom so I  _ was _ on my own, and that was honestly more scary than anything,” Malcolm admits.

“And you’ve made a lot of progress, since then,” Gil prompts him.

“Yeah. We’ve got some of my meds almost fixed, and all of the others at least on the right track. I feel… more like me. And less on edge all the time. And I feel better, too,” Mal says, ducking his head.

“Feel better how?” Gil asks.

“It wasn’t a good feeling, feeling more… distant from you, and Jackie, and mom. Even Gabrielle. I felt so adrift. It wasn’t fun being on my own all the time when mom left. I wanted to call you and I couldn’t without giving away the lie,” the kid admits.

Gil smiles. “Good. That’s good to hear, kid. We’re on the right track,” Gil tells him.

“Prison camp is working?” Malcolm teases.

“Apparently,” Gil says, rolling his eyes and reaching for another donut to cover his smile.

The kid reaches for the donut he’d put down earlier, apparently re-finding his appetite. Gil is pleased to see him really rebounding, from the stress and physical effects of his self administered drug regime.

“I’m still having moments where I feel crazy,” Malcolm says after a few minutes.

“How so?” Gil asks, keeping his tone neutral. It’s good, that the kid can  _ tell _ something is wrong. Gabrielle warned him that he’d be all over the place for a while- Gil hasn’t been  _ surprised _ by any of it.

“It’s like the second anything surprises me or doesn’t go the way I want, I freak out,,” Malcolm says. “Like what you were saying earlier about the meds- I was braced to hear how hard you were going to spank me, so when that wasn’t what you said, I didn’t know what to do and I yelled at you. Or yesterday, when I didn’t realize you started cooking. Or the Jell-O, a couple of weeks ago.”

Gil thinks it over- the inciting incident, for all of Malcolm’s tantrums lately,  _ has _ been surprise. “Why do you think that’s happening?” he asks. “You’re not the kind of kid to act like a brat and throw a fit whenever you don’t get your way.”

“I’m really, really clinging to  _ routine _ right now,” Malcolm admits. “When I know what’s coming, I’m okay. But when you said there wasn’t a ‘big’ spanking this week… I kind of wanted to freak out at you. Even though being spanked is the  _ last _ thing I want.”

“That’s good to know, Mal,” Gil tells him. “I’ll try to warn you, when we’re doing something unexpected. And I can try to remind you to take a second and breathe, when something surprises you.”

Malcolm winces. “And spank me if I freak out anyway.”

Gil nods grimly. “Not for being freaked out. But if you handle being freaked out by being rude and disrespectful, well, now you know how much a flip flop stings. And from now on, it’s going straight across your  _ bare _ butt,” he warns.

“Not if I burn it,” Malcolm says, skirting the line between joking and sulky.

“They come in pairs, kid,” Gil reminds him. “And if you do, I’ll just take you to the store and we can try out a few different brands, so we’ve got spares.”

Malcolm blanches at the threat, even though he knows Gil doesn’t really mean it, any more than  _ he’s  _ really going to burn the flip flop. But Mal’s hatred of the  _ chancla _ is noted. Gil is going to use it anyway, because it stings enough to pull the kid up short without leaving a lasting ache that’ll stick with him, when he keeps earning spankings.

“Should I add that to the errands list today?” Gil asks, teasing. “We already need to hit the Green Market, the library, and the grocery store.”

“Noooo,” Malcolm moans.

“If you’re sure,” Gil tells him, relenting and giving him a smile. “Finish your breakfast, and let’s get going.”

Malcolm finishes eating, and they throw away the trash and head for the farmer’s market. Somehow, even having  _ just _ eaten several donuts, Malcolm manages to convince Gil they need cupcakes as soon as they get to the market, and they eat them as they wander around. They find Malcolm’s blueberries and the fruit and vegetables on the shopping list, and Malcolm is captivated by a stand offering flavored honey.

Gil’s not sure how it happens, but the kid samples every flavor and they walk away with lemon, habanero, and cinnamon. Mal is  _ literally _ bouncing at this point, as they move from stall to stall. Gil shakes his head fondly and lets the kid lead the way. Mal also gets excited about a stall that has jams and granolas, dragging his dad over.

“Look! I like granola for breakfast, and they’ve got  _ real _ stuff we can put on toast,” Malcolm announces.

“Kid…” Gil sighs. He’s already spent more than he meant to, here. He can’t keep buying everything that catches Malcolm’s eye.

“I’ve got mom’s card! I’m supposed to buy some of the food! I’ll get it,” Malcolm promises.

The money isn’t the only issue- the kid isn’t going to  _ eat _ all of the things that are grabbing his attention. “One granola and two spreads, and if you finish the granola we’ll come back for more,” Gil agrees.

Malcolm pouts but listens, and winds up with a cinnamon pecan granola, lemon curd (Gil is just  _ shocked _ that particular item caught the kid’s eye) and a blueberry preserve. He passes the bag to Gil to carry.

“Anywhere else we need to check out?” he asks the kid, who is rocking forward onto his toes with energy.

“We haven’t been to the far corner,” Malcolm points out hopefully.

“Well, what kind of investigators would we be if we left any stone unturned?” Gil asks, following the kid down the row of stalls. He’s glad he grabbed one of Jackie’s big reusable shopping bags- trying to juggle all of the brown bags they’ve gotten  _ and _ keep up with Malcolm would be a  _ task. _

Malcolm has found another bakery. Gil isn’t sure what’s prompted this sudden need to try every sweet thing in the city, but he laughs indulgently and agrees to get cookies-  _ if _ they also get sandwiches. Malcolm agrees and insists on buying lunch. Knowing that the kid has Jessica’s card and that he’s just going to have to deal with her forcing checks on him when she gets back if he doesn’t let the kid spend her money on food now, Gil doesn’t object.

They find a relatively quiet, low traffic corner to sit and each their lunches. Mal talks a mile a minute about the interesting stalls, and the importance of local honey for the immune system, as well as bees’ role in pollination and preservation of local ecology. Gil just smiles indulgently. That explains some of the kid’s enthusiasm, at least. He’s also absolutely on a sugar high.

The sugar high abruptly peters out at the library. Malcolm goes from chipper and excited to slow and grouchy, all at once. Gil gathers the kid and the books he’s picked out up and gets them through check out, then hustles Mal back to the car.

“I think it’s time we head home,” he says.

“You said we were going to the grocery store,” Malcolm argues.

“We’ll do it another day,” Gil tells him.

“What? Was I having too much fun? Can’t have that!” Malcolm snaps.

“Kid, you’ve been having fun all day, but in the past ten minutes you’ve seemed more miserable than anything else. Do you even  _ want _ to go to the store?” Gil asks, honestly baffled.

“You said we were!” Malcolm accuses, avoiding the question. It’s an answer in and of itself.

“I said it was on the list of errands we needed to run. It can go on the list of things we need to do during the week, just as easily. Why don’t we plan on Tuesday when I get home from work?” Gil suggests, knowing Mal will have been home alone all day.

“You’ll just come up with something more important,” Malcolm accuses.

“Kid, take a breath,” Gil says, remembering their conversation earlier. “Do you really want to go to the store, or are you frustrated because the plan changed?” he asks.

Malcolm crosses his arms, glaring furiously at the dashboard for a few minutes before he admits, “That it changed.”

“Well, when that was the plan, I wasn’t expecting us to spend so long at the market or have so much fun. I’m not headed home to punish you, I just think we’re both tired. We’ve done a lot today,” Gil tells him.

“I guess that makes sense,” Malcolm admits reluctantly. They drive in silence for a few minutes. “Gil?” the kid asks.

“Yeah, Mal?” Gil asks him, glancing at his face as he checks his mirrors. Mal looks nervous.

“Am I- are you- I mean… I kind of freaked out,” Mal eventually settles on.

“You were frustrated and you made it clear, but you didn’t cross into blatant disrespect. You’re not in trouble,” Gil assures him, guessing that’s what the kid is worried about.

Mal relaxes. “Sorry,” he offers quietly.

“You’re fine, kid,” Gil tells him, and he spends the rest of the drive home advising Malcolm on what to watch out for when driving in the city.

Mal is flagging badly when they get into the house. “Why don’t I put this up, and you go take a nap?” Gil offers.

Malcolm turns to him, wide eyed and stunned. “Are you kidding? You can’t be suggesting I  _ sleep. _ During the day. When I don’t have to.” His tone is flat with disbelief.

“I’m saying you’re exhausted and you’d feel better if you got some rest,” Gil says evenly. “Sack out on the couch for a little while, see if you can nap. I’ll wake you if it looks like you’re going to have a nightmare.”

Malcolm sets his jaw stubbornly. “Kid, are the nightmares getting worse? I haven’t heard you wake up as much, this week.” Gil asks, before Mal can mouth off and make things more tense.

“I’m not  _ waking up _ much. It’s just… low grade. I don’t remember what happened when I wake up, but I remember being scared,” he admits.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Gil tells him. “I’ll keep an eye on you, I promise. I won’t wait for flailing and screaming to wake you up.”

Mal looks unsure. “I’m not that tired…” he tries.

“Yeah, the yawning and barely standing upright really sells ‘wide awake’,” Gil teases gently. “Just try, kid. I won’t let anything bad happen.”

Reluctantly, Malcolm does. Gil checks on him every so often as he puts away the groceries and gets out the stuff for empanadas, having decided that making them will be a good way to spend the late afternoon, and Malcolm gets a solid forty five minutes before Gil notices him frowning in his sleep.

“Mal. Hey, kid,” Gil says, reaching across the back of the couch to grip his shoulder gently, so he can retreat if the kid panics.

Malcolm wakes up. “Hi,” he says muzzily.

“Hi,” Gil tells him. “Sleep okay?”

Malcolm frowns. “We were at the market. One of the stalls was his… but I couldn’t tell which. He was smiling…. I don’t know. It’s gone,” he says.

Gil wishes again that strangling Martin Whitley were practical. But he can’t go to jail when Malcolm needs him so much. “You want to make empanadas?” he offers instead.

Malcolm does. They wind up having to call Jackie for help, and Mal winds up with dough in his hair. Gil jumps about a foot when the oil pops at him unexpectedly, and Malcolm laughs at him until he can’t breathe. After dinner, they start The Chamber of Secrets. All in all, it’s a good evening.

When it’s time for bed, Gil gets the pills out of the gun safe and lets Mal arrange the bottles the way he likes them on the island. The kid gets his nighttime anxiety pill, showing it to Gil, and waits expectantly. Gil puts a paper towel on the counter for him to set the pill on, then bends Mal over the counter, wrapping an arm all the way around the kid’s waist and bracing him with a foot in front of Mal’s, mindful of what the kid said earlier about holding onto him during punishment.

“Why is it important to take what Gabrielle prescribes?” Gil asks once he’s got Mal positioned.

“She’s the doctor, and an expert, and I don’t know nearly as much as she does and neither does Dr. Whitley,” Malcolm tells him immediately.

Gil gives the kid a dozen solid whacks across his sit spots, and aside from a few quick, hard inhales, the kid doesn’t react. When he’s done, he releases Mal, and the kid stands up, looking none the worse for the wear.

Gil hugs him anyway. “I’m proud of you for not arguing,” he tells the kid.

“You’re being  _ really _ understanding,” Mal tells him. “I’m not gonna push it.” The kid dry swallows the pill and tells his dad goodnight, and Gil ruffles his hair and sends him off to bed. If the rest of this week can be that smooth, they just might make it through this.


End file.
